


Where the Wind Whistles, and the Stars Rest

by mmok



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Interpretation, Fix-It of Sorts, I suppose some world building, In a few words exploration of Byleth's life from childhood to end, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slight Dark Byleth, This is a work I've started writing to detox during exams, first part of the story is OC heavy, pairings will be added, will take a LOT of liberties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmok/pseuds/mmok
Summary: "What if I die?" Her father asks.Byleth thinks, ponders about it with tiny hands buried inside her pockets, thumb rubbing over the wrapping of a candy that was not quite so tasty when melting in her mouth. She looks upwards, sitting on her father's shoulders, gazing at the myriad of celestial bodies stretching into an ocean of blinking white eyes. Translucent blankets of blue, dark purple and emerald, like a shop small and dainty, hanging cloths that dazzle when the rays of sun peek through the dirty glassed windows.At the peak of Fodlan's Throat, carried on her father's shoulders and craning her head exaggeratedly upwards, Byleth is taller than anyone else in the continent.She looks down, questions swimming in her head, dreams of ship flying through the skies and of a little girl with green hair dancing alone in the rain, and she taps the tip of his nose."What then?""Nothing." His father answers, tone soft and twisted in fondness. "You'll still be alive, tomorrow will still come, and I'll still be dead."She huffs.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	1. Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello (*´∇｀*),
> 
> I'm back with an attempt on a multi-chaptered fic. Truly, this was supposed to stay only in my personal folder, but I thought I'd also be losing nothing to share this story here on this site that I spend the better part of my free time ksjdk.  
> As advised in the tags, this is to write about Byleth's journey through her life starting from her childhood. Liberties will be taken (a lot), has a lot of lovely oc's for the first part especially, canon will be broken, and it will be a mess. Updates will be sporadic, so hopefully anyone interested please be patient with me (*´∇｀*). Pairings will also be added later on (probably, this is starting off really great ٩( ᐛ )و )  
> I don't think this is as concise as it is in my head, but it has been great fun writing this, and it has helped me a lot get through some stressful times. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and leave a word if you'd be so gracious :))

There is a newborn in his hands. A flesh small and reddened, blood that their mother birthed, face the size of his thumb he feels. He holds the infant and doesn’t know if to dread or to miserably sob as he sees it squirm in his arms but nothing more. The baby doesn’t cry, they don’t seem to be upset about being forced into the chaotic world that he lives, away from the protective womb of their mother who gave up a lifetime ahead to birth. The infant is silent, lacking of a heartbeat and he loathes the way the archbishop’s eyes glisten like a green-eyed monster from a swamp, dreadful greed feeding into her compassion before elation settles in. A warm, long hand on his shoulder, slender fingers digging through where the fabric of his clothes rested between the crevices of his armor, and the archbishop gives her word that everything will be fine with a surety that he’s not sure where it stems from.

Jeralt’s grieving for the wife he just lost, he’s holding a new flesh of his own that he loves tremendously to a terrifying degree in what seemed to be a completely irrational attachment to feel after such a short time together. Rhea’s smiling, a calculated pull of her lips upwards that was nothing but kind. There’s a prick in her eyes, each time she glances to the infant and that he can’t exactly ignore as he pulls ever so slightly away from the archbishop’s vicinity, despite his reluctancy.

Jeralt doesn’t understand.

He’s put his life on line for Rhea over and over again, not a cloud of doubt or hesitation crossed his mind for the countless years he’s swung his lance and cut down lives for the figurehead of a their religion. The need for reason built a strong base for faith and trust to prosper like a sturdy tree, he believes that Rhea is however close a good person will be (and Jeralt is no angel, that he knows and will always hold onto for all the moments his own hand is passing judgement on another’s flesh), but the birth of his child tears the walls of certainty in him with their fragile existence that, every breath they take is a precious movement not unlike a miracle. With their birth, Jeralt’s world had crumbled between loving mutters and frail holding of hands, it had departed and slipped through his fingers, leaving only another attachment, blood and flesh that belonged to him and the only remnant that his wife had left.

He is scared, ashamed, not worthy of weaving the guiltless life with his own, and he's protective and he _will_ drive his lance through _anyone_ who dares to breathe a single hair of theirs.

His daughter, beloved child, Byleth, if there is truly a goddess up there watching over her birth, where her mother now stands besides and he hopes that the sun will always shine on the path she’ll walk, that even in death her mother will always protect her.

.

.

.

Byleth is cloud-gazing, watching intently the shifting shapes of the immense white bodies of the day, smelling in the fresh air of the mountains, comfortably lying on top of the grass, two hands serving as her pillow. A particularly shape of a malformed pig catches her attention, bulky and head splitting away from the its body, then hears the familiar voice of her father calling from somewhere behind and a bit far. 

She lazily gets up, dusts the dirt behind her clothes that the villagers provided before trailing back her way, skipping on rocks on the path, and walking side-by-side to a queue of ants returning to their nest.

He’s waiting for her with a hand on his hip, a hard look on his face though it doesn't seem like he is particularly upset. The rest of the mercenaries are bidding farewell to the villagers, Marcus particularly stands out as the gruff man stands excluded from the rest, an elated expression on his face though he is also grimacing with tears, somewhat aghast and anguished. He’s holding a woman’s hand, the daughter of the chief she recognizes. She’s small and blonde, her eyes are bluer than the sea, she’s the pride of the town, kind to everyone and every boy’s first heartthrob- or so Byleth has heard the woman’s father gush far too many times.

Jeralt keeps a large hand on her head soundlessly as he nudges her towards Marcus, the large mercenary bends down to her height, he pinches her cheek, Byleth frowns in defiance.

“Take care of the cap’, will ye? I won’t be traveling with you anymore, but you will always remain in me.” He says, laughing and ruffling her hair in the rough manner he only knows. Byleth doesn’t mind that much that particular day, she nods, a painful notch on her throat where she wanted to say more, but no words came out.

They depart shortly afterwards, Byleth on Marie’s back as Jeralt is walking on the side, taking hold of the saddle and occasionally giving carrots to the mare as they take on the road again.

Somewhere behind, she hears insults thrown at Marcus, words that prick, laced with laughter and rumbling fondness that it is not spoken. Byleth thinks they’re weird.

.

Sometimes, Byleth dreams.

Not of sleepless nightmares or fields of plain green where she could just laze around in peace. She dreams of places she’s never been, of brick walls that mount to the heights, tapestry that she’s only seen in the windows of the more aristocrat part of the towns they’ve been, blinding lights that blink relentlessly and flaunt the wealth of the country. She sees people, hears chatter and matters beyond her current understanding, it’s not Fodlan that they speak of, but the dreams always carry a reality to them that is unspeakable.

Sometimes the dreams are violent, not often, but when it’s not listening to nobles talking her ears off from a higher point of view, or signing off accords and splitting administrative rights to every person who comes through the office, she’s making her way to the battlefield, passing by the town mounted like a living hero on top of the mightiest horse.

Commoners and nobles look on, they gather, keeping a respectful distance even if the soldiers and knights by her side were already forming an impenetrable shield for any person that meant ill. 

A flag is raised, big and proud, white with an emblem painted in gold. Fodlan doesn’t have those, the continent is red, blue and yellow with a splash of silver in the middle, but it’s not golden like precious ore carved onto stainless white.

Byleth dreams, unstoppable dreams where she’s never ever held control of. Sometimes it’s about a little girl dressed lavishly with wild long green hair carrying a certain divinity about her. Other times she’s leading a country, living the life of a ruler through glimpses in a unfamiliar land and even weirder language. 

.

She recalls a particular incident. They were settled in a quaint village by the border of the empire, after finishing a job that required more violence than usual, something about aiding to quench a rebellion taking place.

Her father had nestled Byleth inside a house, gravely telling her to wait and not move, something he did seldom as usually she stays by Jeralt’s side, his large hand holding around her waist as the other cleaves through flesh of an opponent. Sometimes she’s strapped to his chest with leather, blood splashing against her clothes and dampening her face as she watches life flicker out of eyes gouged out at the force of the impact, mouth pulled into a soundless scream as Marie’s hooves stomp on their corpses and then they go for the next.

Byleth doesn’t dread blood, she’s not unfamiliar with death at the same time it’s a concept that she can’t put a finger on. She has never been afraid of being hurt until one day she did and she brooded alone in the fields until the pain and frustration were quenched. The thought of showing vulnerability gnaws at her like a lifetime of misfortunes caused of carelessness and trust misplaced. 

When her father rubbed his large hand on top of her head, his eyes heavy and his mouth drawn in a line, in what she would understand later on to be anxiety about the possibility of not returning that night, the first she has ever witnessed doubt in the mercenary, Byleth understands then that she should by all costs listen to what her father has to say.

He tells her to be quiet, to be still as a statue and stay inside until he comes for her.

Byleth nods, perhaps too enthusiastic and more responsive than usual because there’s a dimple forming on his face that she pokes.

She stays quiet, still as a statue. She stays like that until her ears grow numb with the resounding sound of footsteps rushing around, of the sounds of battle in the distance but not far enough for safety. Metal, shouts, the whisk of an arrow traveling far and wide before embedding itself into the wood of the homes. Smell of smoke, flicker of orange through the crevice of the door and _raging_ fire breaking out. Distressed shouts, of loss, frustration, desperation and lack of breathable air and the adults shout louder than their infants’ tears.

Byleth opens the door ever so carefully, eyes widening as she sees the sea of smoldering flames in front of her. Her vision splits, she’s watching a similar scenario though the place is not the same, her blood coils, she sprints through the mayhem of flames as if she was _dying._

She runs where the fire has not spread yet, making sense of a chaos understood by no one, her little feet carrying her with difficulty, she’s lacking air in lungs, soot she breathes in and it lodges in her throat like a parasite sucking every bit of rushing red blood away from her.

Byleth’s eyes tear up, her body is running with a desperation more of memory than of herself, of times she must have lived but not within this timeline, of people that have been but are no more, and of fire, always fire.

A hand catches onto her leg, she falls, looks backwards as her skin burns, a fallen villager asking for help, half of their face bleeding open, the hand they reach out void of their fingerprints.

Their skin melts, at a slow pace slower than a candle’s where every living second is a pain they must endure. Byleth can’t help them to safety, but it’s not salvation that they ask for.

Her throat clenches, she grabs onto their hand, holds them with her own, feels the burning skin against hers like glass being made and words come out of a language she didn’t understand. The person understands in some way, they smile, Byleth ends their life with a bloodied dagger on the ground.

.

When Jeralt comes for her, dirty and silent, gaze lost and blood on her clothes but not hers, huddled in a corner whilst the last remains of the village are burnt down, he doesn’t say anything at first.

He kneels to her height, Byleth listens to him breathe, he’s hurt from the recent battles, but he’s alive and well and a part of Byleth finally understands just how strong he really was.

“You’ll overcome it.” He says, hushed, carrying the same tone as always. “I’ll make sure of it.”

.

Jeralt teaches her how to use a weapon.

He hands over a wooden saber half the size he uses, it’s heavy and splintering to touch and he tells her to carry it with her always.

They spend more time together, Byleth’s time spent alone watching clouds is cut abruptly short as every free counting minute is her being dragged onto flat ground and trying to parry and dodge the ruthless blows.

Others from the group help out more than he does. Bau is lean and lively, he’s proficient with speech and with the dagger, so he’s usually the one who carries out the assassinations in the group.

He teaches Byleth with a soft fist, always joking around and putting in the minimal required shred of effort to attain results, as he prefers spending time recounting the many stories in his arsenal, or explaining to Byleth how to hunt as he seemed particularly fond of hitting unsuspecting squirrels with a single rock.

Halcius is their tank. He’s tall but not big, he's serious and has a bad case of untamed greying hair and rough beard, but where Bau took his time to coax Byleth in training, the older man is silent but strict. When he speaks he points out every little mistake that she’s making. He’s good with the lance, not as good as Jeralt (as anyone will never be) but he’s usually on the frontlines alongside him, rallying the newer people of the group on advancing.

Byleth soon learns that she has a better hand with a sword than any other weapon, the grip of it falls naturally on her hands, it feels like an extension of her limb when she swings it down from her shoulder for the first time, something very close to her. Others take notice, awed claps and praises come in their brute mercenary manner at her talent, everyone but her father whose eyes widen a bit in surprise, they soften, and then narrow in concern.

It isn’t long after that Jeralt finally gives into the whimsical stares she gives as she wishes for something but never voices it out, after she manages to land a blow on one of the younger mercenaries before being defeated, and allows her to stay by his side and participate during their jobs. Byleth observes, with a childish awe that fills and witty anticipation, the way the enemies recoil once they recognize the mercenary, the underhanded methods they go through just so they could nip at his father’s weakness. The curling smell of blood fused with metal, it’s carnage wherever she sees, and it was at the edge of it where she grew up, never faced with its cold, blunt harshness until she finally does, and she doesn’t really discern the look on Jeralt’s face when he notices it too.

Byleth learns, like a hawk watching a lion from afar, flying closer with every passing day until she too can hunt like it does.

.

Their relationship shifts. It flows like a spring over new routes, it’s the same old permeating silence in their conversations, but whereas Byleth spent more time looking at Jeralt retelling his adventures, she now gets to live in them and to share her thoughts on it.

They have found common ground in strategy, so much that her father has been far less reluctant with it and even allows some time after meetings to hear what kind of formations she’d use.

(Some years later, sitting over a wooden table lighted by a dim lamp and inside a place he vowed to never return to, he’d admit, that it wasn’t because she was some god-sent prodigy of war who knows where to point her sword, but because it was in those moments when Byleth spoke the most)

He slaps a big hand over her head, a fondness to his tone even if it wasn’t the answer he was looking for- “It doesn’t matter, try again tomorrow.” He’d say, and Byleth’s uncanny stubbornness in being awake way past what could be recommended for someone her size; a problem that has had grown men and women scratching their heads about how to solve; it ceases.

She gets why he’s the leader, why she always turns her head towards him first when succeeding a task. Their relationship shifts, it’s less lone cloud-gazing or distant awe. It’s familiar, close, personal.

.

.

.

They traverse a snow field high up in the mountains. They circle around Airnrhod to reach for their next job, a wealthy client in a desolate village willing to pay a large bullion for a simple bandit extermination.

Byleth’s legs sink into the snow, reveling the rare wet coldness that sticks to her boots and all the way up her stomach, her father extends an arm to her, waiting impatiently as his gaze flickers ahead and tells the others to continue on.

Something a bit close to shame flares inside her as she tries to hurry, pushing ahead with brute force through the snow as it begins to be increasingly hard to ignore the cold.

She reaches Jeralt’s arm, huffing a white breath of air as he sighs, patting the loose snow that had managed to get on her head.

He motions her to follow close, cutting a path through and following the trail left by the rest of mercenaries easily with his large build, Byleth catches her breath, chasing behind.

With the hurdle being cleared for her by Jeralt and the silence returning again to their interactions, her eyes wander to the vastness of the bare woods, the white mantle that stretches and encapsulates every tree in a frozen hold. It’s quiet, but the lull of life is ever present, slumbering where they could not see.

“Perhaps this job was a bit too early for you.” 

Byleth stares at his father’s broad back, his usual attire hidden beneath a layer of woolen coat that others would argue to be too thin for the kind of environment they were in.

They don’t say anything afterwards, but perhaps Byleth running ahead of him in a stubborn show of defiance despite the truth in his words, was something that both of them could agree to be a futile effort wasted to prove a dead point.

And of course Byleth gets a cold. It’s a foreign feeling, the first she’s ever felt, her throat clenching, a nasty taste in her mouth as her head throbs and the covers used to surrounded her are far less comforting and more like needles on her skin. 

Bau comes by the sole tent that she monopolizes for herself with a bowl of soup they made with the bear they killed that day. He’s got an easy smile on his face despite having been one of the most vocal against this particular job, having grown up in harshly opposite climates, his deft fingers stir the spoon around a few times, all the while looking at her bedridden with a hint of hesitation that she catches on solely based on their long acquaintanceship. 

“... You want me to feed-“

“No need.” She responds with a hoarse voice, sitting up and taking gratefully the food out of the man’s hands.

Of course going against Jeralt’s words would reward her in sickness. Of course she was not only proving but cementing the point the mercenary had made and inconveniencing others in doing so.

Byleth closes her eyes, unable to stomach the strong smell of the food and the ever present jeering Bau did in an attempt to lift her spirits up, though poking fun at the situation by recalling how ‘incredibly worried captain’s face was when young miss fainted right in front of him’- was far from a subtle move in clearing the fog of heaviness in her head.

“It doesn’t seem you’re getting any better miss... weird, normally people cheer up immediately at my jokes.”

Byleth blankly stares at the assassin with glazed eyes, though buried under countless capes borrowed and given by the rest of their peers made her a far less intimidating picture than the one she had in mind.

She clears her throat, swallows down the crass taste in it as Bau was already leaning in halfway, perhaps everything he had done was to purposefully toy with her now she thought about it.

“...”

“Young miss, I realize that you’re conscious of your bad breath during your illness, but I can assure you that I’ve seen and smelled worse in my young life as a thief.”

She huffs.

“I’ve been around long enough to know you were clearly amused, miss.” His face softens, the scar marring his cheek pronouncing as he sits down and puts the bowl away once he sees she wouldn’t touch it again. “Well, I’ll do the talking if you won’t then. I think I’ve had enough of Lilia’s drunk company for tonight, and it’s a good time as any to get in your good graces, wouldn’t you say?”

Byleth yawns, Bau laughs and begins telling her stories of his past. It’s a personal endeavor, one that he is tight-lipped about if asked in any particular day on the field. She thinks it’s the kind of things he’d say behind doors, amidst the cacophony of larger noise happening around as he shares bits of himself to one or two people to hear.

It’s not that he’s secretive, she thinks, it’s just where he feels the most comfortable.

“You see, I’m not from Fodlan. It happened when I freeloaded on the wrong boat back from my young thieving days. I wasn’t very skilled at that point yet, so famished and exhausted I was completely dead to the world as they set sail and I slept for the whole duration of the days long trip, only to wake up when everyone on board began to scream their lungs off.” He winces at the memory. “By which point I had gotten the cue that I was in a different place not meant for me to be already, but disoriented as I was, in my hurry to leave unnoticed, I failed to realize that I was running on foreign land with a foreign language until I ran across a demonic beast or so you call it here, consequently-“ he leans close, a hand hiding the side of his mouth as he whispers into the space. “making me pee a little on my pants, I’ll have to admit.”

Despite the sort of grim tone of his tale, Bau reminisces it over and over like a fond memory, he laughs at his own misfortune, Byleth’s not even sure he’s indulging her or himself. “I don’t recall for how long I ran, but I ran as far as I could, as fast as I could, until my legs bled and I tumbled over the ground, already thinking of my demise until-“ Byleth leans closer, exhaling heavily in anticipation for the conclusion. Bau pauses, he ruffles the little girl’s hair and wonders why did people have such hard time reading her. Perhaps in her weakness allowed her mask to wear down, though he long suspected that it was never a thing she did purposefully. Nevertheless, it was easier to talk to the young miss buried under a mountain of dirty and used mercenary capes, face flushed and guilt apparent, very much enjoying the only company allowed for that evening per their captain’s orders. “Well, I fainted.”

She blinks, the assassin leers. “Oh! But I didn’t die, do not worry. As you can see I can outrun-“

“How did you defeat it?” She asks, voice loud enough to be carried over outside the tent to any immediate passerby’s, stunning Bau into minute silence at the unusual tone. Well, usual for children, not for the young miss. 

Bau rubbed the back of his neck, straining at the memory. “I didn’t defeat it. It was gone when I woke up. Maybe someone came in and ended its life before it could do the same to me, maybe it just walked away.”

.

Byleth wakes up to a soundless evening, a fact that registers quicker than her dulled wits would normally allow as it is reasonably unusual for a bunch of rowdy mercenaries to be this... quiet.

She rises slowly to her feet, sweat clinging to her back as her head throbs after a labored slumber, she looks at the bowl of cold soup abandoned where it was hours before, and surprises herself in thinking about eating it.

The chill of the mountains is no longer a bladed weapon against her skin, but a cold, harsh fresh breeze that wakes her fully as soon as she emerges from the tent, arms already clenching themselves around for comfort.

The night is unforgivingly quiet and dark, even more so now that not even the remnants of the fireplace she could smell, her feet carry her forward, naked skin walking on the snow, though she was more worried about the whereabouts of the other people.

Her footsteps are the sole comfort in this haze of dark; where the moon’s glow touched a shadow grew, the leafless branches rustled at the pace of her movement, Byleth snuggles herself closer, tinier.

At some point she forgets the cold turning red the tips of her feet, so on edge but eerily calm she is in her lonesome, she is carried where her legs lead and where the stars align in the vast sky illuminating, but still not bright enough to turn the whole night into day.

Byleth thinks of a time far gone, a dream inside a dream and comets falling from a violet cloudless sea and turning to dust once they reach the surface. They explode in myriads of colors, in thousand burning threads that do not burn and she’s wide-eyed, fascinated by the scenery, the magic that-

She flinches, staggering backwards as she collided with soft flesh and she rubs at the sore spot of her nose before looking up at the large shadow.

“... Bau?”

Bau breathes in quick and stunned, somewhat unusual for their assassin as his presence had always been indiscernible, just like how he had been moments ago. The lean man lets a mirthless laugh escape him, it was as if he was breathless, as if he had ran across oceans. 

“A bit late to be out, miss? You sure you can handle it?” 

His tone is strained to a point of nonchalance, but Byleth is young and senses dulled from fever, she doesn’t notice, she stops trying make sense of the figure as every step taken closer the other takes one back. “... I can handle it fine.” She responds in frustration.

Bau’s breaths are heavy, he sighs loudly before his face gazed upwards and Byleth follows it, left a bit in awe at how clear the sky reflected his startling amber eyes. His mouth opens, it closes, it’s an action _very_ unusual of the man, considering he had always been quick with his words much unlike her father or her. “It’s a bit cold tonight, isn’t it?”

Byleth’s mind gears click into place, releasing a shaft that had been there but forgotten, her tiny hand surges forward in a familiarity that was not hers, her vision dilates, she sees stars where the shadows spread, colors dancing in the cold breeze.

Warmth gathers in her hands, an orange glow forming and pulsating like a heart came to life. In all her wonder, Byleth looks up to Bau to show the tiny ball of fire gathered between her palms, her violet eyes widening the same rhythm his amber ones were. Illuminated by the orange glow Bau is tauntingly tall, the flame flickers and his face is only partially light up but even then she discerns the blood stain disappearing off into the shadows, the red trail leading down his clothes, onto his hand, where a bloodied knife he clutched.

His mouth is agape, Byleth breathes, soundly and her mind turns but she doesn’t move. She watches in stagnancy as Bau’s eyes narrow, he looks away, face shadowed again and he laughs, exhausted, as if he had flown across deserts.

He falls to the ground, bits of snow flying to the air and melting into steam, Byleth blinks, holds the flame protectively to her chest as if she was afraid it’d be flickered off by any sudden movement.

“It seems I will never be able to win against your family, young miss.” He says, defeated, his bloodstained hand mars the ground beneath in red, but Byleth is oddly fearless, perhaps it was her sickness. “Are you not scared that I will not kill you?” His eyes sharpen, his smile takes a new edge. “Do you think I’m incapable of hurting children?”

Byleth doesn’t know what to say, she never does know exactly what to say so she shifts closer, holding the flame out to warm both of them.

“Have you never stopped to consider whose blood I have on me? That perhaps I hurt your _father_?”

Byleth’s gaze shoots up to his, drawing in the tired harsh lines of his sneer, trying to make sense of the turmoil of rage and bubbling old hate on his scarred skin. She shakes her head, huffs out a tad bit too biased in her naive infant esteem. “Jeralt doesn’t lose” 

Bau’s face falters before he erupts in loud, roaring laughter, a genuine sound awkward and hinged, and he falls to the ground, grabbing snow on his fists. “Well, that is true. Is the difference in strength that staggering?”

She takes a moment to nod.

“Honest ain’t you. Well, I don’t hate that.” He gets up, holding a wet palm down her hair as she frowns at him. “We were ambushed by some bandits while you were sleeping. Many got injured, so cap and the rest took them to the village to heal. I guess you could say I stayed for guard duty since he was very adamant in not disturbing the rest of his daughter.” 

Byleth nods, staring up at the assassin’s grin as he finished his explanation. “Let’s go tuck you back in, before cap has my head.” Bau holds a hand out for Byleth, she notices the new familiarity of the action to not take it as her free one still stubbornly clings to the flame giving them some light to navigate.

“What’s up with that, anyways? I don’t ever recall Cap allowing you to learn Magic, not that any of us is equipped to do it.”

Byleth stays silent, not really sure how to offer an explanation.

“... It just came to be?”

She nods.

“Your father’s daughter, I see.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far!
> 
> As you may have guessed, this Byleth has two 'entities' in her head. First is Sothis, who'll remain dormant for the most part of this first part, and then there is these 'memories from another land', that I've thrown in here purely for entertainment value (*´∇｀*). I'll see you next time, thank you!


	2. Servants of Goddess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY DLC RELEASE! I am pumped for more fe3h, more units, new classes, more supports and lore and also to continue babey Byleth's journey across Fodlan  
> I hope you enjoy the reading. (*´∇｀*)

* * *

Bau becomes a felt presence, more than just a mercenary and several steps away of what Byleth would use to call her father, but he’s not too far either. He’s there at every battle next to her, giving her the room to act by herself but watchful of any snipers or long ranged weapons aiming for her head (which usually was the case, being far from the image of illustrious strength at her size). He teaches her with focused nimble fingers and an impish smile at the ready, taking time to dissect the workings of the field for her to understand, and while she was managing by fine before with his easy jokes and soft teaching, it is far more comfortable learning this way.

He becomes someone that is less of Jeralt’s assassin but more and more nicknamed ‘Byleth’s loyal guard’. She wonders if the man is embarrassed by the title, given that he cared about appearances and was critical of which gold to wear, but then a large grin splits his face, promises pain to those who mocked and Byleth looks the other way, let the man handle it himself.

He’s arguably the one who understands Byleth the most after her father, perhaps even a bit before herself.

Even now, as they crossed across Hyrm to reach Alliance Grounds, Bau notices Byleth’s discomfort before she does, offering a soothing vial of vulnerary that she gratefully accepts.

“First time at the Alliance?”

She shakes her head, feeling the effect of the substance settling almost immediately as she sags in relief.

“She dislikes humid, hot weather. And Hyrm around Garland Moon, has always been at its worst.” Jeralt’s mare falls back into step with her, he looks at her through slightly narrowed brown eyes, reaching out a hand to her forehead, leaning down to make up for her lackluster height. “It would be an arse to fall ill again. Let’s set camp for the day.”

She grabs onto his arm before he could give the order, shaking her head. It wasn’t the weather tampering with her disposition.

Jeralt’s about to object, but he holds himself in, they share a silent mutual stare, he sighs. “Dreams again?”

She nods.

“Ah, of a war between two nations?” Negative.

“Of the abandoned king then.” Jeralt concludes as she nods. “A ruler on a land full of magic, he conquers countries across until he dies inside a fire.”

“That’s a bit morbid for a dream, young miss, fortunately they’re only that.” Byleth takes a moment too long to nod, dreams or memories from a long gone life of someone who has lived she does not know, though it was confirmed that never a ruler or land described in her subconsciousness could be found in any history record of Fodlan they’ve come across, perhaps they were not from here, perhaps they were not from anywhere at all.

“Either way, if they’re getting in the way of your wellbeing, we should consider hiring a priest to stop them.” Jeralt’s hard eyes fall onto her face. “Or that’s what I’d do, but you clearly don’t want that. Suit yourself.” He throttles forward again to lead the group.

“Cap certainly has a wayward charm to his parenting, wouldn’t you say?” Byleth looks at Bau blankly, the man laughs in return and tousles her hair, the rest of the journey through Hyrm is spent listening to old jokes spurring fight between the men, and fighting off the occasional bandits looking for easy gold.

.

Alliance grounds are green, they’re plains of wheat and crops in the countryside, of urbanized villages rich in grains and not of ore, they don't to obscure the nature that surrounds them. The towns are rustic, they’re big and bustling with people but hardly what you would expect to find in the Empire. They stop by the Ordelia territory, a small modest region whose harvest were in decline every year, there were far more commoners than nobles in this place, and even then their garments were hardly different in design apart from the obvious lack of quality and care of the commoners.

Even Jeralt might have been better dressed than the rich of this town in particular, they stand out even more than before, her father orders her to stay inside the inn with Bau until he comes back from his business.

It’s not that Byleth does not acknowledge her lack of strength that made her more of a liability than the one she already was, but to be told off immediately as they reached new grounds, Byleth doesn’t pout, but she _might_ have sulked, and definitely lurched out of the way when her father leaned down with the same customary hand looking for her head.

But everything considered, the town did feel a bit strange. People were oddly indifferent to their arrival, nobles and commoners alike walked in the streets as if social standings were invisible in this place, which is unsettling given that Bau has previously commented with disdain how ‘Fodlan just loved its nobles’.

Bau is silent, he’s hawk-eyed towards the streets and doesn’t budge from the edge of the window where he spies the people underneath.  
  


Byleth ponders about the significance of this, trying to connect dots with the amount of first hand observation she’s had so far, finding it increasingly difficult to just stand still in her room.

Bau notices her restlessness, how she will never know, but one moment he’s the deadly contracted assassin of their group, one who Jeralt trusts enough to put at her side instead of himself, and another he’s brought out a deck of cards from his pocket, telling her that her father would forgive him teaching her the finer arts of gambling given their current boredom.

He’s deft with his dagger and bow, even more perhaps so with his lies and false tells as he expertly shuffles the cards, smooth and pretty and full of vanishing tricks. It’s not nearly enough to take her mind off the bugging notch stuck in her head, but she could certainly try to learn something new, and she’s always preferred learning to idling by in any case.

Ten games of poker later, Bau wins the latest game with his straight flush hand when the very ground they sat upon begins to tremble unnervingly, as if the entire inn was being powered by an engine.

Bau hovers an arm in front of her seeing her reaction to stand up, it gnaws at Byleth how much the desire of protection wafts from the assassin like a security blanket clouding her view, Jeralt’s words cut to her mind, she understands.

The assassin is by the window over an instant, he takes two seconds to look at the commotion before nodding towards her to approach.

The streets are staggeringly emptycompared to merely an hour ago, there’s only a group of black cladded people approaching the square, they drag a villager child behind, the child’s guardians, she assumes, lay motionless on the ground some feet away.

She sees the curtains drawn, but feels the unflinching eyes of the villagers withdrawing back to their homes, watching a familiar event unfold, but to what extent was this normality in their lives, and how did it come to be.

Byleth hears the quick unsheathing of a dagger, Bau’s already pointing at the figure dragging the infant when-

she hears rattling, a distant sound screeching beneath them but zapping closer at lightning speed. Byleth’s instincts cry, she pulls Bau away along with her as the window shatters, the smell of burnt wood hits her at the same electric shocks jolt through her frame.

Bau groans, he hoists her up by the arm, bringing both of them under the table for shelter. Byleth stares intently at his open cuts from the broken shards of glass. (Again-)

“Another one is coming.” She rattles out, sharp ringing hitting her ears. The assassin trusts and grabs tight onto her, he jumps out of the window right as they see thunder racking through the whole building.

Fire begins to sizzle, Byleth watches it break out as they run away through the roofs.

She looks towards the dark figures, dark mages she recognized now, the unconscious child abandoned by their feet, gloved hands brought up for a purple-ish spell to wiggle like worms into a circle; how no one fled the burning building after them and- she bites the inside of her mouth until it bleeds, until the town is out of sight and the faceless beaks Byleth sees are crows loitering around a fallen purse of coins.  
.

“We can’t go back now that they’ve seen our faces.” Bau reasons, nursing his cuts with half a vulnerary. “I’d wager Cap has already caught onto the fishy business. We’ll have to continue moving and meet them at next destination. Do you know where we’re headed next?”

Byleth oversees the village from afar, foreboding floods her veins where curious wonder was. The afternoon sun is none the more comforting as it envelops the whole town in it, as if trivializing the happenstances of the place with an impartial embrace. She didn’t know how to feel about that. Rather, it was becoming harder for her to put a name of what she was feeling nowadays. It was as if her sense of self was slipping, a deeper part of her being trying to take over and discard all that was before, it’s voices around her, throbbing where a muscle should in her chest, missing pieces from her life that will never be filled again (as much, much, much time has passed). They say she’s hard to read, some days she thinks there was never anything to read at all.

“Byleth?”

Violet eyes flicker to amber, she turns her back from the village, gaze settling on the imposing mountain range that shot to the sky, miles and miles away to the east. “Fodlan’s Throat.”

“Cap said that?”

She shakes her head. “A feeling.”

Bau doesn’t question it. He sighs and checks their provisions for weeks long of travel, then they depart, leave Ordelia and head towards Goneril.

.

It is not until the next calendar moon that they finally managed to set foot into Goneril territory.

The place’s more tall, dry grass than woods or trees, it’s boulders instead of houses littered across the land, as if thrown by Giants in times ancient, ruins of a village now inhabitable, pools of water on uneven ground from the rain days ago.

“Heard these parts are used for wyvern training especially.” Bau points to where a line of rocks shot from the ground, colossal spears that curved and eroded with time. “Those are not rocks, miss. Notice how the texture and color are different from what you can see of Fodlan’s Throat.” Even at the very extremities of the region, the range of mountains are an imposing height that cut all the way to the sky, their shapes intimidatingly uneven and pointy, like a wave straight from the ocean had towered over, hitting rock and freezing in earth. The spears she referred to are a much more faded, soft surface than the red, rocky appearance of the mountains. They’re huge and they curve inwards, forming almost an arch by their parallel positioning.

“Bones?” She breathes out, flabbergasted at her own thought.

Bau was, however, much more level-headed about her response. “Yes. Ancient dragons once roamed the very sky we live under. Tall lengthy envoys of the goddess, nurtured with love only for purity and good, punishers of sin. They’re children, servants, proof of existence of the progenitor god.” He draws out each word rehearsed, gaze lost at the row of remains of what once was a living creature. “‘To cross them in sin... would be to wish for swift death, lest the goddess’s servant delivers it, for every misdeed they’ve done.’”

Byleth tilts her head. “Not exactly of what you’d expect of a goddess, isn’t it?”

“Do people die more than once?” The winds picks up, it tousles Bau’s midnight hair as his amber eyes blink slowly at her, far, far away from where they were.

“I sure hope not, young miss.” He smiles again. “But as I was saying, this place is very popular for wyvern training because of the harsh conditions and irregular obstacles. I’ve heard that people from across all Fodlan come here to participate in an annual race of some sorts.” He leans close to her face, the same impish grin pulling up her cheeks.

Byleth draws her mouth downwards, he is treating her like an infant once again. “Do you want to see it? I’m sure Cap can wait a couple more days to meet up.”

A figure in the sky stops the retort ready by her tongue, letting her mouth hang open and the flat violet eyes blink and widen in wonder. It monopolizes the great blue that flows between her fingers, a sensation fleeting, feather touch melting through her skin. It holds dominion over it, sharply curved wings ending in blades. Bau’s eyes follow hers, soon the figure grows large enough to make out the pointy horns protruding from the scaly skin, the loud growls of the creature sounding distant from where they stood on the ground.

It was the first time she’s seen riders apart from pegasi knights, their speed bellows the size of the creature, the sharp turns it makes that a Pegasus could never attain, a brute strength to it rather than a regal poise.

Her face softens, she feels oddly at peace watching the creature freely flying through the sky alone, the height where it elevates to, the thinning of the air, the feel of rugged scales against the rider’s hands as they press their flesh and merge into one arrow that darts across for a single instance. There was something oddly peaceful about it, about the lonesome two figures flying above, a sense of unperturbed freedom.

“Something’s wrong.” Byleth’s eyes squint at Bau’s words, she sees the alarming progress of the pair plummeting downwards before staggering on the air again. The howls of the wyvern grow distressed and close, Byleth is frozen in place until the winded-mount staggers towards them, falling forward and rolling on the sandy earth. She’s pulled away as the others collide with the ground, Bau holds her tight in his arms, entire frame shielding her from the dust as she huffs in exasperation.

The dust clears up, the pair shifts closer in tandem, Byleth holding Bau by the neck as the latter leans down to survey the damage.

The wyvern writhes on the ground, clawing at the red sand, disoriented as its wings laid sprawled and open but immobile. The rider is a woman whose leg was bleeding, eyes tightly closed, unconscious and paling in pain. Likely, that was the reason how the two of them fell to the ground.

“An arrow head aiming for the rider rather than the wyvern itself... I’d say she was just the victim of a very unfortunate accident, huh young miss?” Byleth huffs.

.

The woman jolts awake, screaming in glee that she was alive, leg bandaged and healing from its injury. The whole ordeal went a lot smoother than they expected, given that wyverns were known to be very protective of their riders, though this one in particular didn’t even move a single tooth away from licking its scales when they dragged its rider away by her arms, as Bau vehemently refused to carry _'dirty, rich lady taking a walk in the plains, receiving the blunt end of her ignorance'._

Strangely enough, the wyvern diligently followed them back, poised and uncaring to any of their advances.

It wasn’t hard for Byleth’s childish wonder to grow enamored quickly with the winged creature, trying to earnestly approach it just for Bau to pull her back each time with a pointed smile.

“Missy, with all due respect, your safety is directly correlated with mine, so please do not put yourself in dangerous situations.”

Byleth huffs, she points towards the maroon creature mauling into a whole carcass of a freshly dead lion. “... good.”

“Pray tell, how did you just figure out the nature of an aggressive winged lizard with that much confidence.”

She looks away. “Feeling.”

Bau forces her to walk ahead of them, an endeavor that she carries ‘enthusiastically’ as she kicks every stone on her way.

Now she listens to the woman’s raucous voice as she laughs and retells of her accident that could have been fatal if her wound hadn’t been treated as quick, not the slightest fazed when Bau told her blankly that the arrow had been poisoned and while he had done the best treatment under conditions to clear up the infection, there was still no certainty that it wasn’t a late-acting drug and she should have it checked out or she’d risk something worse than amputation.

The woman doesn’t even flinch, she offers a loud, curt word of gratitude (something Byleth didn’t think she did often) and was in as high spirits as anyone could be. The wyvern didn’t seem to care about the current development, and the young mercenary is starting to think that it’s more out of habit to its rider’s antics than anything else.

Bau keeps himself especially close.

“She your daughter? You two don’t look alike.”

“She’s my captain’s daughter, but you would do wise to not hurt her in any way.” Byleth looks up once she feels the amber eyes on her head, Bau’s smile spreads, he seemed a bit tired of the day. “Me aside, our young miss is renowned in our group for being an unforgiving foe were she be crossed.”

The woman hums, crossing her arms as she seemed more interested observing the assassin. Her brown, reddish eyes sharpen, they’re the same color as of her wyvern’s scales now that she took a closer look, it was a peculiar fact. “You’re from a group of mercenaries, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Interesting.” The leer across the woman’s face grows, she rubs her fingers under chin as she pins Bau with a pointed stare. “I would have not guessed, given the way you speak.”

Byleth watches the interaction like an outsider, she blinks as Bau pulls her closer and behind with a discrete hand, the woman’s unsettling sharp eyes shifting to her instead, noticing something that normally goes unnoticed.

Then, she guffaws.

“You don’t need to be on guard so quick, mister mercenary. I just thought it to be weird that one of your kind would stop to nurse a woman back to health without asking for coin.” Bau didn’t seem to ease back however, but he does snort and sits back with his arms crossed, hidden dagger hidden beneath his earth-toned fingers, flickering a hard look to the woman’s injured leg and searches whatever invisible weapon could be pointing from the folds of her clothes.

“You have our young miss to thank for that. She seemed intent to please your wyvern, and I could not do my captain the disservice of not granting her wish.”

The woman’s attention comes back to her again as a smirk begins to spread, she leans down, back being supported by the wyvern that slept soundly, reminding Byleth that soon they’ll have to start making a fireplace as she feels the warmth of the sun particularly in only one side of her face.

“You have my thanks, little girl. The poor sap might not look like it, but she does care for me a great deal.” She nozzles the wyvern’s head with her hand, Byleth wonders at how does it feel to touch the scales. “Want to try, little girl?”

She’s up before she even utters an answer, short legs crossing the slightly tense distance separating both parties, amber gaze sharpened to watch every single one of her movements. The woman looks at him, sees easily through his thoughts and merely snorts in response, enticing an undignified, low growl from the assassin as she reached forward to ruffle her hair.

Byleth doesn’t notice or she makes it that she doesn’t care in the least, staring intrigued and hesitant at the wyvern’s closed eyes, as if trying to ask permission silently as she did not know how to communicate with tongue.

The woman watches her movements, the rise and fall of her wyvern’s breathing as she wills it awake with a slap on its stomach. The creature’s eye opens, it blinks slowly at the lass before it opens its jaws and she has to hold back her laughter as the bigger of the mercenary pair shoots up to his feet alarmed. The wyvern exhales with enough force to knock the girl from her feet and send her tumbling backwards, ‘This is what you’d expect approaching a wyvern with no means of defending themselves’- she thinks, not surprised about the development of the events.

The little girl doesn’t seem taken back in the slightest, most would cower at such rejection, children seldom are brave or foolish enough to approach within two feet of Yuei, even rarer after being blown off.She pats the dirt from her trousers, tip-toeing close again, stopping as she hears the wyvern growl in warning, crouching down, head levelled at the same height from where her partner laid leisurely on the ground.

She reaches into the pockets of her dress. “Take this, lassie. Yuei is not very fond of close touch, so you’ll have to bait her with some treats.” The child stares at her hands in wonder, and her own smile widens a bit more.

She is kingdom's lance, but she's also daughter of a traveler father documenting pranks done to unsuspecting victims of different lands; she's wild, red hair stubborn and heat-blooded, and a better fighter than all the boys at the village where she lived alone inside a house dripping rain from the roof. She hands the treat to the innocent child more courageous than most, locks gazes with the mercenary and flutters feigned lashes in nothing but good grace. She does not expect her wyvern to take the treat in the least. She expects some jaw movements, some pointed teeth and a growl, and maybe tears, angry guardian gazes and perhaps some piss smelling of fear.

Yuei blows the child off, biting harshly and the girl falls backwards, a hand almost stolen.

Wyverns were fickle creatures, they felt fear and kindness from humans and were not afraid to take advantage of them. They see weakness, hesitation and were not one to courteously please the other’s whims. They’re incredibly prideful, few humans catch their eyes, even fewer were allowed to feed.

The child, though she seemed less like it the more she saw the events unfold, she stands up, back straight and shoulders broad, her violet gaze as unreadable as they’ve been since she had seen her blink unnervingly close at her wake, and she brings forward a hand, waiting for Yuei to return her move.

Her wyvern writhes, it growls as if challenging the child, claws scraping the earth and tail slithering in restrained hunger, then its head lowers.

Her eyes widen, smile turning nervous.

 _Ah,_ she thinks, _Bliss in ignorance._ gaze flickering to the mercenary watching with a calm, content smile, as if everything was right in his world and the big scaly lizard leaning into a girl's hand was nothing more than proof of friendship beyond species. _Precious_ , her dead mother would mutter, thin, dry hands held to her chest and sighing when she looks back at her daughter. 

_Hideous,_ she would have said instead, Yuei curling into the girl's hand, whom a hundred corpses offered had never been enough to tame its thirst of blood when the cusp of the moon turns fully round, restless during Lone Moon.

“... seems Yuei took a liking to you.” She says, feigning nonchalance, a trick that her playful father had taught her very well. “I am Yuna, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

.

Yuna leads them further into Goneril territory.

The vast tall grass littered with ancient bones and building-sized rocks scenery are replaced by greener fields, by rich farms and cattle peacefully eating off the verdant grass, towns that could be seen in the distance as both Byleth and Bau held each other tight on top of the wyvern.

The feeling of soaring through the dry air, unbidden by obstacles or the limits of her body was an experience she’d never forgive herself to forget, something she’s sure she’d crave once they reach ground again, perhaps the woman would be willing to indulge her in another ride before they went on their ways, though judging by the knowing gaze it didn’t seem that it’d happen according to her wishes.

“You’re looking to reunite with the rest of your group, right?” She asks, finding no difficulty in speaking with the thin air as Byleth didn’t have the same ease to listen with her ears being constantly clogged by the air pressure. “Then you should go to the Goneril estate. They are active lords of the region, and more than any other house, they’re very aware of who goes in and out of their territory.”

“Will they attend to a couple of poor, prim, good-looking mercenaries like us?”

Yuna’s reddish brown eyes glance towards Bau, a playful mirth on her face. “The lord’s son is an old acquaintance of mine. We trained in the same class back in Kingdom’s school.”

“What if he doesn’t recognize you?”

The woman turns a smug, tauntingly bold smirk towards them, face slightly obscured by the opposing sunlight. Dazzling red hair, whipping like fire hoarding windy woods, paler skin peeking out from the silky material around her neck. Her leer is toothy and the tips of her strands are flared in glowing red, and Byleth’s chest flares at the sight.

“Then you may take my arms, legs and head, strip me off my honor, riches, life and my title as ‘Sky Sovereign’.”

Byleth turns to Bau. “I like that.”

He understands the jeering tone in her flat words, aiming to flick a reprimanding finger on her front. Byleth veers out of the way, fingers digging into the scaly skin as she slinks away from the protective hold, dangling precariously over the wyvern's tail, hearing the alarming concern growing into shouting pleas from Bau. Yuna snorts, how Byleth hears it she's not exactly sure.

The current of air turns her ears cold, she grabs at the wyvern's tail, being swung around like a pest crawling to where it should not and then she blinks as Bau comes closer, shaking legs and face paling when he looks downwards, perhaps those were tears of fear Byleth felt dripping on her face... or possibly drool.

"How are you _not scared_?!" 

She huffs, looking downwards when the boot slides off her right foot, where it falls until it's a tiny point that she never hears hitting the ground. The great blue welcomes Byleth in its arms, brisk and calloused thousand-fingered hands, rough edges cutting her young, supple skin. And how could she ever be afraid, she muses, still hanging onto Yuei's tail and Bau hurling pleas for land to a woman whom they met falling from the sky- when she's so safe and securely held, inside its immense blanket of security.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> babey byleth and her deadly babysitter, I really warmed up to this dynamic
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I'd be more than happy to hear some thoughts from you.


	3. Unnamed Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth meets a tiny pink-haired noble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I BANGED the DLC. It was frustrating at times, but I really appreciated the challenge. I had purposefully stopped my GD replay just so I could recruit them earlier on, now I can go back to it and have tea repeatedly with all of them (yesssss).
> 
> Thank you for the 140 hits (*´∇｀*)
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this chapter.

Byleth and Bau wait inside the mansion’s guest room.

She sips onto the tea they serve, sharp and bitter, a taste that the assassin takes upon himself to scowl and spit onto the floor, something she’s sure the maids wouldn’t be too pleasant about.

“I’m surprised you can swallow dirt without much of a flinch, miss, I truly am.” Byleth blinks at the man, finding some reason in his words until the strong smell of barely seasoned bear soup comes to her mind, him happily indulging himself on a second bowl while others were still trying to swallow it slowly down their throats.

She thinks the other is purposefully trying to make a scene, taunt the nobles living here out to chastise his manners, the assassin enjoyed nothing more but a challenge to his wits where he could use his silver tongue.

The mansion is bolstering with noise despite them being unattended for so long, they haven’t heard of Yuna since she left to greet the patrons, the maids that were stationed to serve them as guests scurried off once a particularly loud thud happened right after Byleth’s fourth cup of tea, their faces pale and in shock as their footsteps ran outside.

The pair of them looked painfully out of place, a reason that leads Byleth to believe why Bau felt particularly agitated with his presence.

Fortunately, for the people responsible on clearing the aftermath and for Byleth who is always inevitably roped to be part of his schemes, Bau did not have to come up with more ways to carry out misdeeds in order to lure the attention of the maids. The double doors of the room open brusquely and Yuna walks in with the hardest face she’s seen so far on the woman.

Her chin-length red hair has been groomed, sitting comfortably on her shoulders. She has also changed into a clean armor, silver and curving into scratches as she moves and the light of the day follows her movements. The mercenary can make out the emblem of the Faerghus Kingdom stitched onto the tips of her blue cape that flowed down her back, she saunters forward, more knight than the playful woman they met, stopping right in front of Bau.

“You are a close aide to Jeralt Reus Eisner, am I correct?” Bau takes a moment to respond, standing up in full height as him too, was taken back at the appearance of the other.

“The one and only. I see cap’s reputation reaches even the ends of Fodlan.”

“Matters little, what matters is that you are capable enough to be on foot with the strongest mercenary.” Yuna sighs, she seemed impatient as her armor clamored at the rhythm of her unrestful feet. “We need your services. Almyran forces are fast approaching Goneril estate, and at the moment we’re short of men due to the annual expedition many of them were sent to. Normally this wouldn’t pose a problem, but” Her intense reddish brown eyes flicker away, settling themselves on Byleth for a brusque exasperated expression to appear. “seems that the young daughter of the house is home, _and_ currently missing.”

Bau’s brow arches at her, he crosses his arms, levelling a look that conveyed how unimpressed he was. “You’re bolstering outside help, so you can tighten security around a little brat? I know how ironic this sounds coming from me, but-“

“Refuse if you do not want to, mercenary. I’d rather not have you waste your breath and _our_ time.” Yuna sighs at the same time the two mercenaries glance towards the newest addition of the room. A man with short pink hair and sharp equally bright eyes walks towards them (Yuna, rather) with a relaxed, confident step that bellowed his strength. He’s lean and tall, hardly bigger than Bau, proper and every word befitting of a noble. He's also all-rounded force, trained muscles beneath his pompous red armor, skin darker than his exposed hands and a saunter to his legs that Byleth could immediately connect to the person who accompanied Yuna in their earlier days.

The man rests a hand on the woman’s shoulder, then his gaze pierces Bau’s in assessment, eerily intense for a bearing so delicate. “What matters in our family concerns little to you, you merely need to agree or refuse the job.” He looks the assassin over, deliberately slow as he did so. “Or do you feel a bit blue about facing some stray Almyrans? You certainly don’t look like someone from a renowned mercenary group.”

Bau inches closer, accentuating his height as he leaned down and smirked at the man, clearly displeased in the way the other talked. “Just wondering how feeble the youngest daughter must be if you need to hire a sellsword as capable as me,” His amber eyes sharpen with malicious mirth, taking joy at the way the smaller man’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his younger sibling. “but most importantly how the older brother fails his role, to not even know his sister well enough to know her whereabouts... condolences to your family.”

The noble returns the smirk. “You’d do well to still your tongue, mercenary, my sister is not someone you can refer to so casually.”

“And I see you show your weakness well." Bau rolls his eyes. "From all the words that thrown, you choose to focus only on how your sister was mentioned. Careful now, _young master_ , or next time there’s an attack, and it will be a lot more purposeful than little bouts of fists looking who is stronger than who.”

The noble man doesn’t flinch, he hisses at Bau’s borderline threatening words, hand reaching to the rapier sheathed by his hip at the same time Bau reaches for his dagger.

The pair does not move, they wait for the other, a silent battle of wits that only the two of them could feel.

Yuna had already stopped trying to find common ground after Bau made mention of the other’s sister, opting to watch closely from the sidelines and ready to intervene if the situation turned too ugly. She seemed far from impressed, far too used, far too within her element.

It is the Goneril noble who speaks first. “You are passably fast for an ill-tongued brat.” The noble smiles at the assassin with a satisfied face, all traces of earlier altercation gone in his speech, as if all the hostility that had occurred in the last two minutes meant nothing once he saw with his own eyes something about Bau that refused to yield. “State your price, mercenary, and we shall see if you have enough hands left from the ordeal to claim it.”

“Do not worry for I what I ask does not need any hands to hold. I ask for a formal apology from yours truly _only_ ” Pink brows arch in dark intrigue. “Oh, and new clothes for my young missy. She’s gone far too long with the same set of clothes, and it’d do well to meet her father prim and proper, perhaps she could even take something from your _sister_ ’s wardrobe. An old thing is fine, it has to be in excellent condition however.”

The noble hums slowly, followed by heavy silence that hangs between them and Byleth sees the present servants glancing to each other, whispering hushed words carried through the air. Yuna rubs her front, less playful rider of her wyvern, more the knight that she wears on her cape.

Finally, the noble leers, stifles the beginning of a laugh with a cough and the tips of Bau's ears darken visibly. 

“Unfortunately, my sister is a few years shorter than the young lady over there. Either way, it will be done if your performance is deemed satisfactory.” He turns his back to them, sending a last look towards Bau before leaving with Yuna. “It would be for your best interest to be good enough to make me grovel by your feet, I do not take lackluster performances well.”

.

“That went well, I’d say.”  Byleth blankly looks at Bau’s sheepish face as she sips onto her tea that was already cold. “It could have gone _better,_ but now you're getting new clothes at least after we're finished here.” He nods convincingly to himself. 

She huffs, nipping at the biscuits before nodding in understanding. All things considered, she was wholly expecting Bau to refuse the request, though she supposed they were a penny away from being completely broke. “... Bau, we don’t have money anymore.” She says once she realizes that he did not, in fact, ask for reward money. 

“A-Ah... well, you see, it’s that, that thing, we’ll meet with your father soon anyways, it’s not like we need to worry about that anymore.”  She holds her gaze, worried about their next meal and having to be forced to hunt animals that none between them knew how to cook. “H-How about you go search for the young daughter as I go off fight the Almyrans? If you manage to find her, then we could ask for more coin too, and you’ll also have something to do while I’m gone.”

.

Byleth walks aimlessly around the mansion, looking for any hint of the missing girl with bored eyes.

It seemed that every living soul that was not currently being tasked with preparing for the incoming battle were doing the same thing as her, albeit with a much more fervent attitude. Maids ran from hallway to hallway in a hurry and speed befitting of their profession, she blinks at the one who had already passed by her thrice, perhaps even them had trouble to navigate throughout the massive house and identical hallways.

If finding the child proved to be more than adults who worked in the house every day could handle, then perhaps it would be all the more easier to lure the person out instead.

Byleth tries to think about what a girl her age might like, growing confused and unable of coming with a coherent answer that did not satisfy her needs only. She liked fishing, but as far as she could see there was no pond or any lake near the estate. Byleth liked... fighting, she liked learning all sorts of stuff from the ragtag group of mercenaries, eating, sleeping comfortably on bleak ground, dark clothes unlike her father's and more like Bau's.... 

Byleth swats those thoughts away, it was turning more frustrating the longer she thought about it. She blinks back to her surroundings once she realizes the lack of clamor around her, though she could still hear people shouting far away, the only presence in sight seemed to be her only as far as she could tell. It didn’t help that the hallways were long and identical and Byleth had never been particularly stellar with directions, no matter how much Jeralt spent time to try rectify that.

She sighs, standing idly would do no good either, though moving from the place could also make matters worse.

She thinks hard about her predicament, crouching down as she thought about, staring at the flickering lights of the wall lamps as only them lighted up this windowless, desolate place. 

She wondered why it was like that, yawning in boredom as the sense of duty she felt when given the task dwindled out from her long and steady breath .

Her fingers flicker, familiar warmth spreading in them before flames hover at top of each of her digits. She passes a hand through them, apart from the warmth they exuded, they did not scald or burn her skin, though if she put it on the carpet underneath, then it would surely spread and cause a mayhem in the mansion, and she and Bau would have to bolt and evade the wyvern and the two people chasing them hotly in their trail of dust.

She looks towards the long, long, and dark hallway in front of her with no end at sight. Last time she attempted to shoot a straight fireball, the fire flickered out at a distance that took Jeralt two seconds to reach with his long legs. She stands up again, believing that this time she could probably do more.

The flames merge into a single ball, flickering on top of two fingers that she aims towards the darkness, she exhales, and then it shoots from her hand, speed agreeably better than last time she attempted. She counts five seconds before it dies out.

Byleth huffs, satisfied with the result of her training, but hardly had enough of it once seen the fruits of her labor.

She tries a handful more of tries, each Fire increasing with intensity as she’s determined to be so quick that it'll dart across the whole continent and hit her father's unsuspecting back from wherever he was. She grows bolder, increasing the number of the fireballs, unaware in her childish bravado that anyone approaching from the opposite side could get heavily injured by her careless playing.

She keeps going until she’s comfortably launching three fireballs the size of her head at once, they fly through the dark, diminishing until they flicker out, it’s an oddly pleasant sight to watch.

Byleth stops all of a sudden as she hears a meek and high _eep!_ from where she shot a Fire close to the wall, the sound came from where a cement pole stood that reached up to the ceiling. Closer inspection reveals a small head of pink hair protruding out from behind, some bits of a large dress charred from its tips, smoke rising from where the flames touched.

Byleth swallows, she approaches the figure, half a mind wondering at how long had the child been there, unable to escape as she blocked any escape route with fast fireballs, the other half wondering if they will have to pay for the destroyed dress in their lackluster financial state. Her mind flashes back to Yuna and Holst riding Yuei and chasing them down across the rocky ground, this time Byleth grows more agitated.

The child is tiny, she’s chubby and has plump cheeks, her pink eyes lighter than her brother’s, but definitely carrying the noble, delicate poise to them. She’s so tiny Byleth doesn’t even need to ask to know that she’s the youngest master every servant had been turning their heads to find, the young mercenary huffs, the child looks up to her with big, expectant eyes.

Byleth blinks, she nudges towards her left, hoping it to be the exit for the child to follow her.

She takes five steps before she realizes the other had _not_ been following her.

The tiny daughter sucks a finger in her mouth, she’s still looking at her with the same expectant, widened eyes and long lashes blinking.

Byleth is confused, she points ahead of her, how was she even supposed to talk with this baby.

“...”

“... Come with me.”

“... Hilda wants carry.” The tiny child says, voice meek and innocent, expecting fully that Byleth would hold her in her arms without a second to waste.

Byleth’s neck sweats in coldness, she gingerly shakes her head, eyes wide at the unusual request.

Once she found that the child would not budge from her position whatsoever, Byleth decided that perhaps it was best to seek advice from Bau before coming back to deal with the child, completely disregarding the fact that the latter may not rest still waiting until she comes back after finding the way out, find Bau, take the time to explain the situation to him and listening to his words before coming back.

To her surprise, she hears the soft tapping of leather shoes behind her, the tiny head bobbing into view as the large pink eyes stare up to her with wonder now.

“You won’t carry Hilda?!” She asks, perhaps more excited than confused, squealing when Byleth shook her head in slight loss. “But everyone wants to carry Hilda!”

Byleth ignores her, straining herself to decide which way to go next instead. She decides left, because that’s what Bau always said to choose if in doubt.

“Neh neh, my feet hurt. Won’t you carry Hilda, _please,_ pretty pretty prince?”

Byleth turns to the tiny child, whose head collided with her back at her sudden stop, her plump face splitting into a grin as she hoists her arms up to her. Byleth lightly hits the top of her head with a fist, huffing as the young noble’s expression turned to shock. She did not cry, Byleth could at least concede that much.

“Yo-You hit Hilda! Not even my parents do that! You don’t like Hilda? Why did you hit Hilda?” She asks her in fervor instead, more enthusiastic than she had hoped.

Byleth sighs, biting the inside of her mouth as she stared at the jumping child reaching for her, unsure of how to react. “I... do not like noisy people.”

The noble’s mouth opens in an understanding ‘oh’, she exaggeratedly covers her mouth with her hand, the other motioning for Byleth to bend down to her height, something she indulges in reluctance. “ _Sorry”_ The other says to her ear, still as loud as ever, though she appreciated the effort if nothing else.

Byleth nods, she hesitates, but eventually she offers a hand, one that the child practically jumps at to take, already forgotten of what she had said a minute ago.

They walk in silence, or as much as they could be what with the other trying to fill in with unnecessary chatter that Byleth listens to out of politeness.

With the other’s guidance they manage to get out of the interminable dark hallways, it seemed that at some point Byleth wandered to another building altogether through a passage that was not widely known even among servants.

“Neh neh, Hilda promises to not ask anymore, but why did you not want to carry before?” She persists with the question, the same one she’s asked for over ten minutes now, with exactly the same words and tone.

They're walking through the garden, taking their time to return to their main building as Byleth dreads a bit to go back to the boredom of the guest room, alone this time as Bau was surely out with the rest of combatants fighting off the Almyran invaders.

“Neh neh, Hilda pro-ow!!” Byleth bonks her head, a bit harder this time as she squeezes the tiny  hand in her hold. 

“Don’t do that.”

Her face deflates a bit, but she nods. “ _Okay_ , I just don’t want pretty pretty prince to dislike me. It’s not because I’m chubby right?”

Byleth blinks, she shakes her head. She holds both of the tiny child’s hands with her own. “Suppose someone was hiding in the bushes, waiting for their chance of attack. They jump from the shadows, we only see it happen when it’s right in front of us.” Byleth squeezes into the warm tiny hands. “My hands are full, I take too long to grab my knife, too long to chant a Fire. Now, I’m dead, and you’re left alone with the enemy.”

Hilda blinks owlishly at her, Byleth would wager that perhaps she was too young to understand, but then Hilda had never came across as the type of person to remain quiet for long.

“Understand?” She asks, unsure.

The noble nods, she still asks and talks about anything and nothing at all, but lets that particular subject drop.

.

They eventually make it back to the main estate. It’s still ways off from where the rest of the warriors were fighting off Almyran forces, but even then they could hear the unmistakable sounds of harsh encounters, driven battle cries and the anguished screams of pain from a well-placed blow.

Byleth doesn’t flinch each time they hear or even see someone falling off from a wyvern in the distant horizon, she’s grown in it, breathed alongside her father when his lance claimed their blood and glistened its pristine silver edge against the rest of them who dared to come closer. But more surprising than her peculiar upbringing and nonchalance, is Hilda who still happily chats her ear off, tiny hand grabbing hers. It’s not that she’s deaf to the world around her, evidenced by the minute long glances when a particularly loud altercation happens some ways off from where they were, before veering her attention back and continuing her tale of pranks on an unsuspecting butler. Her pink eyes are most similar to her brother’s, Byleth notes, they’re round and striking, like a noble’s, but also mischievous like an intrepid mercenary.

Byleth is still appreciating their similarities when Hilda slacks her hand from a grip she tightened so fiercely, leaving dampened skin cooling from the air when her tiny fingers let go. Frilly dress fluttering as she spins in glee, running to top of some stairs that led to an open-balcony edged with stone railing sculptured to look like chalices from banquets between heroes. It’s a precious sight, precariously naive and innocent, she’s like most other children.

Her eyes look downwards as she follows, climbing the light brown, stony stairs at a slower pace, feeling heavy with each step, _feet that had turned bigger and a ground that was further away, metal reverberating at her movements, a cape that is heavier than her person, dragging just behind and trailing each step she took._

_ She hears stifling crowds, colorful rain that upon closer inspection were bits of paper used for inaugurations. The sun shines high and bright even if Byleth recalls it being already halfway towards afternoon when she stepped out to the garden with Hilda by her side. She hears trumpets, golden color reflected and stinging over her weary eyes, the stairs are wide and lengthy, and it was a spectacle to watch, her heavy steps reverberating with metal, the cape smelling of fresh laundry and draining strength off her shoulders. _

“Hilda! Hilda! Is at the top of the world!”

Byleth blinks back, reaching the end of the stairs with slight sweat clinging onto her face. It’s a sizable space, high up from the ground and closer to the battles than she had expected. It’s Hilda, tiptoeing on top of the railings that were surely not built for that purpose , arms spread out and frilly dress fluttering with the afternoon sun illuminating her from behind. 

It’s a precious sight, precariously naive and innocent. She’s like most other children.

Her grin stretches wide and fearless, clearly having done this sort of activity countless times, cruising and entertaining herself by watching others fumble- Byleth huffs, skin crawling at each toddler step inching to the edge, _how did she play right into a baby’s tiny, chubby hand?_ -

“ **BYLETH** ”

Byleth jerks halfway towards Bau’s distressed shout when she loses her balance and falls sideways. Her head shoots up with pain, an intolerant throbbing persistently clinging to the most sensitive parts around, she feels it spread, like roots of a tree sprouting from the ground and splitting the even earth. Her vision staggers, she sees flickers of blood, a stone marred with it also falling, she quickly makes her assumptions as she prepares for the painful landing.

But most importantly, Byleth’s eyes catch onto round, striking pink ones, a somewhat lost expression on the toddler’s face that for some reason falls alongside her instead of drawing further away. The dress she wears flutters, but its big ribbons disappear off past a point she couldn’t see anymore, her tiny hands reach out, she’s uncharacteristically silent for someone who had been wearing Byleth’s patience thin ever since they met in that dark corridor.

Byleth surges forward, clumsily regaining her balance and running towards the falling toddler. She jumps over with a mindless certitude, reaching an arm forward even if it seemed fruitless at the rate both of them were plummeting to their death.

The young mercenary grabs onto Hilda and holds her close like how Bau does it when an enemy wrenches too close to her; she sees a stretching battlefield beneath, metal clashing against each other, uniformed men and of Almyran garments immobile, on top of each other from where they fell and that soon they’ll join.

Byleth breathes in, harsh and unready, Hilda refuses to let go of her impressive tight grip around her arms, refuses to talk even if it may be the only time Byleth would have encouraged her to.

A timely gust of wind thrown by a mage hits them, delaying their fate, it soars them upwards through the draft, high enough for Byleth to be at the same eye-level as the nearest wyvern and its rider fighting off another one.

She hears Hilda’s brother shouting his sister’s name in a scream stiff and crazed in sheer concern and horror, loud and his voice spreads, effortlessly drawing the attention from foes and allies alike.

Byleth huffs again, wind blowing harshly her hair as Hilda's itch her nose, thinking of how her father would have scolded the noble for giving away crucial information and losing his cool, she thinks, still hearing his grave and even voice when dozens of arrows rain from above.

There was no escape, hardly any form of retaliation, and yet-

“Don’t look away, Hilda.”

The toddler stiffens in her arms, lifting her face and her tears comically drift upwards as they fall. “B-But it’s because of Hil-Hilda always-always... that” she bawls, unhelpfully as Byleth is not adept at all to be dealing with this kind of emotional baggage she wasn’t even sure she had the capability to feel.

“Even so, do not look away.” She points upwards, away from the ground that grows alarmingly close, but to an orange landscape, beyond the steel tipped arrows reaching for their skin. A sky that is infinite, orange, glowing like underneath the surface of a bottomless spring safer than any sea. 

Byleth sees it reflected on the toddler’s glassy, pink eyes, a swirling imagery that is precious, precariously innocent.

Her body lifts, a light driving away the pain of her bleeding wound, that renders even the annoying air pressure clogging her ears somewhat bearable.

“As long as I am here,” She cups a chubby cheek, violet eyes boring into the other’s with a certainty that wasn’t totally hers. “nothing will hurt you.”

.

A couple of hundred yards away, from where the battle still rages and beyond footsteps running against each other in fury, beyond the fearful steps staggering back at face of the renowned Goneril heir, or the lost gazes trying to pinpoint the location of a mercenary taking their men out at a fearful speed. It’s all of them flying in tandem, breath latched on their throat as each of their rehearsed moves, of the sky-faring speciality they were so renowned for, are thwarted effortlessly by a sole knight bearing the emblem of Faerghus. It’s beyond still, where the rear team of Almyran wyvern riders were not yet skillful enough to intervene and not be a liability to the more seasoned fighters. It's where a reluctant young Almyran daughter worries, convinced to join in the fight by forceful parents for its rewards if she ever came back. The young Almyran daughter has hardly ever held the iron axe handed to her, hardly ever trained midst her internal battles faced with her parents’ unconcern and of her comrades’ skepticism. She has never held her wyvern more times than she could count with her ten fingers, has never bonded with the wyvern the same way Yuna did first time Yuei tried to eat the woman, not once seen the creature as anything more than that.

Wyverns are fickle creatures; they see human fear and kindness and are not afraid to take advantage of them. Few people can claim they have successfully ridden them; fewer even claim that a wyvern are their partner.

The wyvern, brown and unnamed, who even among a sea of a hundred more impressive ones is tougher than the strongest man present; it roars, a long-winded, suffering sound that surprises any closer witness. The inexperienced young Almyran falls off its back, and lands butt first on the ground, widened eyes helplessly watching her mount fly off to somewhere she didn’t know.

The wyvern, large but hardly impressive, brown-scaled and inconspicuous, it darts around the battlefield with a skill not previously attributed, of a personality far from the more docile one they deemed fitting for an absolute beginner like the young Almyran daughter.

It roars, casting shadows to the ground beneath, it darts, no one knows what is making it acting this way, hardly anyone has even the time to notice such irregularity, too preoccupied with the opponent they’re fighting.

Byleth is seconds way of either being squashed by the ground or stricken by dozens of arrows, growing illogically possessive and _refuses_ to let them hit the toddler as long as her body was intact and within their way, sees the world slow down and her vision reach further, is able to feel each of her short, anxious breaths pumped into her blood.

Hilda clings to her with an impressive strength, pink strands and bangs lifting as they fell, itching her nose. She hears Bau even if her ears were still somewhat clogged and her head hurt more than it did before, the fierce pain that thumps against her chest where a muscle should, _a whisk of air, large scaly body stopping above them and wings spreading, long and graceful, stopping the arrows from their downwards path and rendering them harmless. It darts around, Hilda cries in glee and instinctive fear, Byleth’s back hits something hard and scaly and it hurts only like a harsh slap against her stomach._

She latches onto it, they soar, Hilda securely held beneath her and safest away from being blown off, the wind pulls on Byleth’s cheeks, Hilda claps at them and giggles, red eyes brimming with the last of her tears, like she was still dancing at the familiar balcony with the orange sun illuminating her from behind.

They fly upwards still, a height unreached, through the dense clouds and Byleth has to close her eyes, it’s less of a pleasant experience than she had imagined how it would feel.

And then, they’re alone.

The wyvern calms, roars that sound more like ten cats purring at the same time than a lion looking down on its next prey. 

It’s a sea of unending clouds, of untouched air and it’s Fodlan’s Throat tips right somewhere to their right. Orange and red and pink, a sun that is blinding and not warm as if it was encouraging them away from this quiet place.

Hilda jumps up, hitting Byleth’s chin from underneath and she’s reminded of her headache, of the untreated wound by her temple and she hits the top of her head with a softer fist, huffing as the other whined.

Hilda’s white and pink ribbons contrast greatly with the brown scales, the two of them do, whereas Yuna and Yuei were two of a set, an essential part of what makes the other.

“Hilda didn’t look away!” The youngest Goneril _screams_ at Byleth’s face, face splitting into a very large grin, jumping incessantly that Byleth was afraid that the wyvern would at some point throw them off. “Hilda! Hilda! Is at the top of the world!”

The wyvern growls in response, a kinder sound than she expected, and Hilda laughs along, as if she could understand what the creature was conveying. Byleth’s eyes widen, she breathes in the air and it’s thin but almost tastes sweet, she looks at the joy bundled toddler, more red than she had previously thought.

“... And what did you see?”

She spreads both her arms wide to cement her point. “The place where the Goddess lives!”

“An infinite nothingness?” 

The other hums, thoughtful. “Maybe she’s poor, maybe she can’t buy a house.”

Byleth arches an intrigued brow. “A goddess who’s poor?”

“But look at everything she has! She has all of this! _All of this_!”

Byleth imagines laughter. A crass noise, grave and filled with rough humor; of beer-stained breath and flushed faces, clamoring taverns lighted by dim lamps and the satisfied sound of glass hitting the wooden tables with a resounding ‘thud’; her father’s rarest moments; a horse-sized lizard grumbling and chubby cheeks shaking endearingly, pink eyes narrowing in softness and a tooth missing from a prank gone wrong with a brother too strong for his own good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And please leave a word if you'd like :))


	4. Inevitable Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first arc, I'd say.  
> Thank you for everyone who've read up until now!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter.

“Well... you look lovely, if I may say.” Bau stifles his laughter, amusement purposefully showing through his actions as he’s looking for a reaction. He’s got bandages on his arms from the blows that enemies managed to hit him with, a ugly bruise on the side of his face when he became too distracted once he saw Byleth and the youngest Goneril falling off the edge of the balcony, timely forgetting about the heavyweight, bulky man that had been biding his time for an opening. 

Byleth tries to huff, but the frilly fabric clings to her throat and it itches, it’s not loose, there’s a big ribbon tied around her neck that Jeralt would surely reprimand for inviting anyone to choke her by the strand. She thought Hilda looked good on it, but seeing herself in the mirror and she stands awkward with the amount of cloth on her, the somewhat unnecessary hat that is strapped to her head, a maid even took the time to comb through her unruly hair.

Preparations were carefully made, carried meticulously, but Byleth is daughter of a mercenary, does not have a house or a garden to leisurely have tea at, and most glaringly none of the etiquette that would have done the dress any deserving justice. 

Byleth frowns at her own reflection, at the lilac-colored frills and her frown deepens.

Unlike Bau, the Goneril heir is a bit more mindful of her and politely acts as if everything was in accord, a knowledge that came to discomfort Byleth even more as she sulks and looks down.

“I don’t want to meet Jeralt like this...” She mutters, Bau’s face creases in a ugly way, like he was squeezing his face after eating a very sour berry that turned sweet at the end.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to do with these as we’ve discarded of your old clothes.” Holst chirps in, sighing aggravatingly. “Apologies if this does not comfort you, I wish I could do more. I’d offer my own infant clothes, but they’re out of state right now, and we cannot afford the personnel to journey out with the aftermath of the latest battle.” The Goneril heir says, genuinely consternated.

Most interesting development would be that the Goneril heir had come to view her in a much more positive light compared to the indifference he met her with. He doesn’t fault Byleth for being a potential cause to his sister’s safety, he’s charismatic enough for the young mercenary to not think of the sudden attention as being out of place.

Bau, on the other hand, was less than pleased following the battle, something about how the ‘rewards could not make up the risks taken’. He and Holst remain on not so pleasant terms, though she felt it to be more on the same vein of how other mercenaries of their group bantered with each other and retained a healthy rivalry, preferring to trade blows rather than admitting any sort of respect they held for each other.

Byleth pinches Bau’s thigh, the other blinks at her.

It was most uncomfortable walking in those garments, she decided. A new deference for the younger Goneril stems, she may be a bit childish and understandably overbearing when she wanted to be for someone of her stature, but Hilda understood and effortlessly employed the ‘proper etiquette’ in an ease that Byleth feels she’ll have much more difficulty to learn.

Speaking of Hilda, she now clings to Byleth’s side like an extension of hers with a mind of its own. She’s never far from wherever Byleth is, solving a lot of headaches for the maids and butlers in the estate when it came to her timely disappearances. 

She’s more mindful of how to act around Byleth, some care in taking consideration of her appreciation for personal space, or as much as she could hold back before her infant-sized attention and patience wore out. 

Byleth isn’t afraid to reprimand the other for it. The first time she did it around other people had ten of them surround her and threatening her with their hidden daggers, sparking an interesting protective behavior from the youngest Goneril who proved that she was no pushover despite her size and antics. She doesn’t think of the swelling emotion that grows in her like a sprout that goes unnoticed before it becomes large enough to not be overshadowed by the surrounding grass, Byleth sees it as an appreciation for how Hilda turned out to be compared to her initial expectations and nothing more.

.

They stay for a few more days, waiting for Bau’s injuries to heal well enough to be able to handle any unprecedented situation that may occur before departing for Fodlan’s Throat.

It is the most adequate time to leave as they’ve freshly received a report from the border team that sighted a group of mercenaries heading their way, which considering the timing and place, Bau made the educated guess that it was none other than the group that they strayed from.

Hilda hugs Byleth tight, closer than she would have liked but ultimately decided to let it slide given that it felt less uncomfortable than it normally did. Her snot does get stuck around the frills of her chest, which was less than pleasant.

While Bau and Holst exchange their last words with each other, Yuna comes forward and crouches down her height, wiping off the insulting body fluids with a gentle care.

Her demeanor is calm, less of an assured, boisterous woman they first met and more of the regal, renowned knight she is. Her striking red eyes slide to hers, sharp and it was if Byleth could see Yuei’s slitted pupils from them.

She smiles bitterly, a bit sad and happy, relieved and torn. Her calloused hand ruffles her hair, Byleth blinks, unsure of how to react. “You frighten me just a little bit.” She glances to where Holst and Bau are bickering with each other, somewhere past it, where the Goneril territory stretches and the vivid green of the season is just starting to turn a bit more yellow. “Unheard things have happened, and I cannot shake them off as coincidences anymore.”

Byleth doesn’t understand, she’s upset about something, but she can’t put a finger on what it is exactly.

“It’s alright if you don’t understand yet, it’s alright if I’m just wrong.” Yuma’s calloused hand slides to her cheek, she holds it there with a touch more intimate and meaningful than Byleth was capable of perceiving at that moment. “I feel, as a knight to my king, as someone of my title, I feel formidable things in you, that will occur and you will be there, and I ask you only to be mindful of the path you choose.” Byleth tugs on Yuna’s bangs, the other smiles, less weighted than before. “What I mean is, I don’t think this will be the last time we’ll see each other.”

Byleth tries to beam like Hilda does, it comes off bad and awkward and most likely unpleasant judging by the way Yuna roared suddenly in laughter.

.

“What will they do with the wyvern?” She asks Bau when they’re on their way, leisurely walking through plains of green with Byleth on his back after the other insisted in not sullying the clothes. 

Bau hums, midnight hair tickling her cheek and taut back muscles creasing. “They cannot release it, nor return it. I believe they’ll take care of it; but if it cannot be tamed then...” While she waits for the answer the wind blows, leaves of nearby trees scatter, the loud whistling and fresh air are soothing against the unexpected humid warmth of the day. “... then, they’ll have to put it down.”

“put it down?”

Bau hesitates a few seconds more before responding. “They’ll have to kill it. A beast that is untamed, is a threat.”

The assassin steals a glance behind once the silence turned long, not unusual for a Eisner, but unforeseen under the context. He expects blank acceptance, a sullen resignation to some extent. Over the moons he’s made it a game to discern what the young mercenary had been thinking, one that he had gradually become good at and could pinpoint accurately now with confidence each guess he made.

He doesn’t believe he’s wrong when he sees the quiet elation on the other’s face, the serene lines around her eyes where it was the easiest to see any change of her humor.

Violet eyes turn to his, startling him away from his thoughts. “And if it runs away?” She asks, all frills and strait-laced where a certain brim of nomadic nature could always be felt some way or another- he deftly wonders at what reaction his captain would have once they meet again. 

“If it runs away?” He echoes, deep in contemplation.

Their captain is a man of more words than his daughter but still fewer than the average man. He listens more, he’s the type of person to show his feelings through actions. Others like to think that Byleth had been result of a night’s mistake with a countess, adopted from a dying mother or picked from an unconcerned relative, but Bau sees his captain, blond, somewhat awkward and unbearably protective of his daughter; no shadow of doubt that she is a child born from mutual love if judging only by the lingering expression that he has sometimes when the young miss shows uncanny prowess for tactics or when she tiptoes around the rocks of a river.

He’d like to think, that the captain once he sees his daughter again, will recognize her first among everyone, will perhaps be a bit sentimental, let others take a breather of fun with the situation before monopolizing his time alone with his daughter. She will ride Marie’s back, his captain will steal unsubtle glances to her and comment on the impractical clothing but never tell her that it wasn’t proper of her; he will perhaps take the rare occasion of the reunion to take her onto his shoulders, walk alongside a lake until Byleth points to something-

“Like that!” -something in the far away sky that only she could see first, curiosity brimming, a precious sight unfolding. 

The wyvern’s wings flap harshly and send gusts on their direction, its brown scales glisten and makes it more magnificent than it seemed on the battlefield, Byleth’s dress flutters with the breeze, the entire field reflected in her violet eyes.

“Just like that.” He mutters, watching the creature gliding off.

.

When Byleth reunites with her father again, amidst the conflicting feelings that had no place to go, the anticlimactic conclusion of the rumbling anticipation that had been building up the more they climbed the steep path of Fodlan’s highest point, he asks of her-

“How did you know we would be here?” 

To which Byleth responds, “You told me to wait at the highest place if I ever got lost.” and Jeralt smiles, a big hand that tousled her hair in a more careful way. He lifts her up to Marie’s back, not letting her the time to greet the rest of the group before they throttle away in an agreeable speed. 

She locks eyes with Bau, a grin eating his face that was both surprised and fond.

Jeralt says “You’ve grown” to Byleth’s “You got fat!”; he’s “This, this is all your mother.” making circular motions with his hand at her and the clothes she wears, a smile that is fond and sad and his eyes were lidded but present and Byleth’s “I rode a wyvern” earnest and factual, and then Jeralt reels back from whatever memory he was in; he’s rough hands and a hard seat to lean against, a completely silent company compared to Bau’s raucous chatter, but he's also a house surrounded by a verdant garden. They stop at the edge of the cliff, an evening wind that chills, her father wraps a cape around her, she huffs at being treated like a child again but otherwise makes herself comfortable.

They oversee the dim scenery, the almost scary darkness where it was far and void of any villages or towns. There’re bubbling lights at the edge of the distance, blinking gold and yellow during the night, past the boundaries of the lands where she had grown. 

The night howls, wind blowing between the crevices of the Titan-sized cliffs, of the huge tree casting an intimidating shadow at the top.

When Byleth breathes, white air drifts upwards where the stars are visible and dotted the space like blotches of ink on a black canvas. When she brings up a hand to wipe at the snot, feeling the cold tip of her nose and her father’s thumb wipes it away instead. He pinches her cheeks and wipes it off his pants before bringing his hand back again to caress her head; she feels winter around the corner, a lifting voice erupting from her throat and making Jeralt flinch in surprise for a moment of her glee.

He pinches her nose, locks her arms and his low laughter is a rare moment she treasures. Byleth stays huddled beneath his frame and on Marie’s back, they oversee the scenery until it splits apart and Byleth sees much more than that.

Boats, large intricate ships drifting in the air without water, a fish that swims and is longer than the river she and Bau travelled from Ordelia until Goneril. It swims effortlessly among the man-made(?) vessels; sometimes beneath, sometimes overhanging.

Interesting people, who had wings instead of ears and somewhat pointy noses attempted to fish at them with nets that glowed a luminescent green when spread; Byleth reaches at the memory and she’s sitting on a high place, conversing with someone as she feels a knot that folds and unfolds pleasantly in her stomach.

She tentatively smiles, Jeralt looks at it soundlessly, and waits until she speaks again.

“I saw a dream.”

“Of a little girl with green hair?”

She shakes her head. 

“Of the abandoned king, then.”

She shakes her head.

Jeralt turns his gaze to her, intrigued. “What was it then?”

“We were in a boat. It was rowing along a sea of clouds.” She motions along with her hand.

“A boat, you and me. On clouds.” He responds, amused.

“We were fishing for a dragon.”

He laughs again, a first instance where he’s done that successively. Byleth etches the ageless wrinkles of her father’s face close in her memory, she huffs. “You were about to get eaten though.”

“By the dragon?”

She nods. “We had no bait, so you decided be it yourself. I didn’t want to but you already jumped inside the clouds and then I woke up.”

Silence follows, the kind that Byleth waits for it to be broken rather than let it hang comfortably between them.

“What if I had really gotten eaten?”

She whips her head around. “What if I had gotten eaten?”

He pinches her nose again, drawn out sufferingly as she whined with a muffled voice. “That won’t happen.”

“Then you also won’t get eaten.”

Jeralt’s eyes harden, his thumb touches the stubborn crease between her brows and loosens it with a fatherly ease. He puts his hands on her shoulders, a reluctant line of age on his front. 

“What if I die?”

“We’ll die together.” 

He shakes his head, grip tightening. “What if _only_ I die?”

“But you won’t.”

“What if I do?”

Violet eyes stare up to his, a solemn moment that passes and they try to find something in his gaze. They widen, he sees it happen and tries to remember every minute detail of it like a mundane moment rippling big waves for later ones. She swallows, she frowns and she huffs just like her mother does when she’s upset about something.

“What then?”

Jeralt flicks the expression away, willing the mare back from the place as they trudge further down the path, where a wider space allowed them more freedom to walk. 

“Nothing. If I die, you’ll still be alive, tomorrow will still come, and I’ll still be dead.”

His daughter sulks, he smiles from a place she can’t see it. “I don’t want that.”

“Even then” He grabs her, lifting her up and high and close to the moon as her flat gaze frowns, unfitting of the clothes she’s wearing. “You’ll still be alive, tomorrow will still come and I’ll still be dead.” He waits another instant, watching his daughter fumble with the thoughts before putting her down to find her own footing on the ground again. 

“If I die, you will still live. As simple as that.” 

Jeralt hands Byleth a sword, a heavier one than the ones she’s used to, double-edged and metal. 

He himself draws a dagger, purposefully leaving out his trusted lance as he motions her to take a stance.

“From now on I will train you,” He smirks, smug and undefeated, a cutting image of strength and confidence that enemies from far and wide knows him for. She grips the sword tight, the hilt pressing comfortably among her calloused palms, steadying her breathing. “and one day, you’ll face my lance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far!
> 
> Please R&R (*´∇｀*)


	5. Sword of the Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the death of one of Jeralt's men, Byleth follows its trail leading to the Empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the start of the next arc, hopefully it'll go well (*´∇｀*)   
> Been changing my drafts and rethinking how to put the Ashen Wolves in the plot without it being forced bfjdj, I just really love them.
> 
> Thank you for reading, hopefully you'll enjoy the chapter. :)))

Byleth is older. Chin-length unkept hair that laid loose and wild on the tip of her broader shoulders, lean arms with muscle, a violet gaze that assessed more than it wandered to the clouds in levity. She is less Jeralt’s weakness and a misplaced presence in the battlefield, more her father’s second weapon, his scabbard, a dark blur to his drastic orange. She can make Jeralt take on his sword, a weapon shy away from his lance and the one hurdle she has been stuck for over half a year without much step of progress.

He’s relentless, ten blunt jabs instantly bruising her flesh when Byleth had just the time to parry the first one. Byleth’s body flares, scraping earth and stepping grass each time she has to get up, shallow breaths that are hungry, rushed and aiming for her father’s scars.

One year into this routine of her sword against his, the final hurdle to climb through until she’s worthy enough to stand beyond the name of her father’s legacy; Jeralt’s gaze is strained, mouth pulled into a thin line and he brings coldness from Ariarnhod into the heated movements of her sword. Byleth grows as a warrior, and her father grows the more relentless, more bruises that take weeks to heal unattended as she dives back into it without blinking an eye, Bau sighs when he hands her a towel at the end of the days, “You’ve grown strong.” on a face obscured by the sunset.

“She’s gotten cocky.” Her father grunts, stalking back with his back straight as Byleth lies on the dirt with sweat clinging to her skin. 

.

They’re halfway through Charon, heading towards the capital Fhirdiad for a moment of rest, participate in the martial arts tournament taking place to earn some quick cash, and maybe stay for a few more days to see the festival celebrating the King’s birth.

It’s during one of these mundane afternoons on the road when Halcius’s scouting group that had been gone for the better part of the moon returns.

Jeralt puts a halt to the training of that day, a hard face on him once he spots Emma, their merchant-turned-fighter, running towards the camp from the distance and must have sensed something out of ordinary for him to wish to privately hear the report. Her father has this almost omniscient intuition to when something is inherently wrong even if it seemed perfectly usual at a first glance- a mercenary’s intuition, she had heard some call it. Byleth has tried to ask him about it, about how he knew when someone was twenty feet away and coming from a dense foliage of the forest, when Bau had been hiding his noble lineage when nothing of his person could pinpoint a similar movement -rather, he’s fervent and open about his dislike for the blue-blooded- or when Byleth is thinking about saying something some ways at the back of the group and he whips his head around timely to catch her gaze. 

Jeralt, in return, would just stare at her, then he sighs and stretches his muscles as if he were twenty years older, he’d tousle her hair and say something unusual or that it was something he wished she didn’t have to learn. 

_Utterly incomprehensible_ , she huffs instead, a bit of teen rebellion acting when she swats the hand away.

Byleth seeks out Bau to pass the rest of her time, not counting on her father to be immediately back after the stern, dazed expression replaced his usual lax hardiness.

She plays cards with their assassin, having bested him first a year ago once she discerned how to change her ‘blank; faces around to throw him off. The other’s amber eyes are sharp, he finds other ways to defeat her at the game and it’s clear as glass how much he enjoys the challenge, but it’s a closer match nowadays, and she doesn’t think the assassin particularly likes the shifting positions.

Others gather around, even more so after their charismatic Ivan comes and ten others follow him. He cracks jokes and engages others in conversations, the traveling mage accompanying them named Irina gives commentary that was borderline satire. The space behind Bau’s tent, where he had set up a makeshift table with a wooden box they use to store provisions and where two barrels turned to five and later to more, it fills with noise, a familiarity that doesn’t make Byleth want to retreat back to the comfortable silence of her quarters but to stay and appreciate it leisurely at her own pace. It’s a wayward home they’ve constructed, of old faces and new ones replacing them in a constant. She keenly remembers a gruff man filled with tears and a woman’s kind smile coercing her soon-to-be husband away with a caring touch, she remembers them jeering about Marcus but it’s far from the contemptuous refined words she sees two nobles throwing at each other every so often in passing.

“And the star player of the scouting team, an assassin too noticeable for his own good, our young Byleth’s loyal guard has been bested! Those who are groaning offer your coins, make sure that you spew out the exact same amount you’ve bet.” Irina announces, beguilingly casual to being surrounded by mercenaries twice her size and bulk, even if she had been present only for two weeks. Luckily for Byleth, Ivan had bet his money on Bau, and what the charming blond did, ten others would follow on his footsteps, and she could already gauge at how heavy the stack would grow from that simple decision.

The man’s green eyes glance to hers, slightly narrowing in pain and resignation before shaking his head and going forward to chastise Bau for his loss.

Music fills in soon afterwards, the bard they had picked up from almost being eaten by a bear regales them with an old Fraldarius folk song; those who have come from those parts cheer. Others, like her and Bau prefer to down their beer and watch them dance rehearsed steps to the melody as the night grew livelier.

It takes the assassin one second too many to spew out his own drink. “Lethie! You can’t drink that yet.”

She huffs as he takes away the cup with a speed fitting of his title, Byleth yawns, feeling the weight of the day’s workout wearing on her.

“You gotta start loosening a bit, Lethie. Even cap’s getting sort of jittery.”

Byleth yawns again in response, eyes closing in serenity before it dissipates, just as how all feelings come and go through her. A murky chasm of bubbling liquid, surrounded by fog thick enough to hinder vision. She’s tired but doesn’t feel like resting, she sees the dancing folks and they’re limbs blurring and after-images carried by the night, the singing are notes to fill in the silence and the voices are noise waiting to finally be heard. She fiddles with her fingers, thinking of hours prior when she had been sparring. _The exhilarating imminent defeat when she must have pushed some wrong buttons and her opponent’s lance wrenches forward in a deadly illusion of a trident rupturing her flesh. He veers back an inch away from touch, wide eyes blinking back to the steadfast composure he usually keeps and then his head snaps to the road, where a moving figure had been running towards them._

Pretty _, Byleth had thought, shimmering admiration and shaking arms, cold sweat mixing with the heated surface of her skin, she swallows, looking for water._

Byleth sighs, a heavy weight on her chest, a thousand year old of reflex making her grab onto the hilt of her sword, gazing at the far away space behind their stables where the leaves began to rustle.

She hears Bau reaching for his steel dagger, searching for what she had seen, breath loosening as Jeralt emerges from it. 

Byleth doesn’t loosen her grip, she sees the way her father slightly drags his feet, aged eyes searching for hers before looking away, heading off to their strategy tent. She stands up, following soon after.

.

“Halcius is dead.” Jeralt announces cooly. “He was affiliated as a regular employee for the Aegir. They betrayed him, killed by poison.”

It was hard to imagine their tank, stern and curt, the very definition of caution falling for a mere poison served by an empire noble who were particularly known to be crafty. She strokes her chin, searching for any indication on her father’s stony face. “... But they weren’t the ones who killed him.”

Jeralt stares, arms crossed before reaching for his pocket, taking out a familiar medallion stained with a large bloody fingerprint and sliding it on the wooden table. The lamp creaks, flickering as Byleth observes its crafted curves, connecting notions in her mind. “Pam killed him.” She states factually. Pam was an apprentice of Halcius, a quiet person who didn’t share much of their past, but they were an asset with their quick feet and ambitious drive to succeed. Byleth thought them to be a simple-minded person who were honest and focused only on providing a comfortable life to their family. She and Pam hadn’t exchanged many words, quiet as both of them were, but she can track vividly the long list of the times when she’s incorporated the mercenary in her strategies and had them as a key player for their executions.

She hears Pam’s voice in her head, a shy smile growing and a flush made visible on their dark skin after an animated night turned long. They show off their medallion, talk about their family who they feed each month with the earnings they make, of the times they’ve starved in the past but have no more need for it.

“What do you want to do, Byleth?”

She whips her head towards her father, scathing heat brewing inside her lungs, striking violet that glares but doesn’t know where to direct it at. And just as quick as it comes, it dissipates once again inside that foggy place that had never cleared for as long as she had been aware of her lackluster expressions.

Jeralt waits, hard-gazed but serene, he gets up, hand squeezing her shoulder. “We are mercenaries; do not ever forget that.”

Byleth realizes that her father purposefully laid out the double meaning sentence for her to pick up apart, to try to resolve the ambiguity in her with even more ambiguous words. 

They were mercenaries, they were efficient, impartial and the tight contracts bonding them were knotted in a simple way. She thinks about the old faces who’ve left and the new ones who’ve come; of the countless people lost and gained and it was a transient life, nomadic by nature, but she had always found her way back to where her father was.

What did it mean to be a mercenary, she wonders. Taking on odd jobs for money; not being rooted to a place long enough to call it home; not having a place where they’ll come back to and the people immediately recognize their faces; having tales exaggerated about them; take what they need; more honourable than thieves, but hardly comparable to a knight loyal to a king. They band together, she knows many faces and names of many people she travels with, but hardly she ever knows or cares about their motives to join and choose this precarious way of living over a safer and stabler career. They don’t inherently belong anywhere, and the freedom that they boast is something that is not able to be traded for a simpler life within some village, excluded and feared as they were. 

Byleth thinks, and she likes the privacy that it gives, the transient nature of it, nobody gets close enough for Byleth to have ever felt the fear of them leaving one day.

She looks at the table, the bloody fingerprint etched on its used metal and she thinks, matters as these were between them two, the fault lied in Halcius letting Pam inside his bubble, it was a consequence of placing his trust in someone whom he wrongly thought to be worthy of it.

_Trust, trust._ Something shoots up Byleth’s gut, climbing her throat with clawed fingers wringing into its walls, creating viscous fluids that cling and are uncomfortable against it. A history of betrayals not lived, her hands are calloused from holding a sword for too long but somehow she can feel her own warm thick, crimson blood dripping on it. _Trust._

She looks at the place where the bulky man usually seats with crossed arms, scars littering his tanned arms and they always had to wait in baited silence one full minute for the man to conjure his own opinion, cautious as he was. She thinks of Pam, sometimes replacing their master when the latter wasn’t available, starkly different but hardly better when it came to being less stiff and it caused amusement around the table.

_“What do you want to do?”_ She grips onto her sword, turning away and the dark cape she wears fluttering along, the unsettling feel of an invisible open wound dampening her mind.

.

They head west and then south, to Enbarr, where Halcius’s last request will lead them, an upfront payment of two large bullions already made. It was a formality, as she didn’t think anyone acquainted with the late mercenary would even consider about refusing the request.

“It’s endearing, isn’t it,” Bau quips in by her side, less coddling than before, but still the closest person to her whenever there was a moment of breather. “a bunch of loose tied men and women, we work for coin, but for free we would complete a dead man’s request of which we don’t even know the specifics.”

Byleth blinks at Bau, smiling mirthfully like he always does or so he thought he came across. She stares at him, unreadable expression as the assassin falters after a while. 

If Byleth could catch onto that, then it surely was affecting the other more than he was trying to show. “You are not being very honest.”

“Being honest had never been a boon on my side, Leth.”

“I am not trying to usurp you.” 

“And how can I trust you?”

She ponders about it, gaze lifting up in thought, as the stallion she’s riding picks up the pace. 

.

Byleth deflects a fire-tipped arrow, rolling on the dry earth before pulling up her weight and closing the distance. 

The archer riding the pegasus panics, the creature whining in response as it cements her thought that it was a stolen mount from its original rider. She draws her sword, using a protruding rock on the terrain to hide from an incoming attack and uses it as a leverage to close the height difference. She spins, the archer’s face contorting in horror. Her eyes narrow, reaching for a dagger by her belt and throwing it, a large claymore collided with her sword as a bulky warrior comes between them, ginger beard stained with blood.

The bulky man curses as the archer writhes on the ground, hand clenching around his collar where the dagger hit, Byleth observes. The twin-horned helmet the ginger man wore, the one-horned helmet the archer had, similarly colored plaited mails, they were either from a rogue group of knights or a mercenary group more flamboyant than the norm. Either way, she could see how they managed to ambush them inside the forest that she deduced was their territory of choice, not even Jeralt had foreseen the attack despite his penchant for predicting things like these with an eerie accuracy.

She runs forward, the tip of her sword pointing at the neck of the bearded man, the latter roars, a crass sound in anger, he jumps back with an agility that did not fit his physique, the wounded archer held protectively in his arm. 

Byleth recalls, years long memory in the Goneril estate, a young noble daughter clinging to her hand, asking to be carried as Byleth chastised the child for it. _“Won’t be able to protect you with both hands full”,_ she had said along those lines. 

An ironic twist of life, she thinks, cutting the flesh of the man’s arm without way of retaliation, the first instance of a scream erupting before she ends his misery with a well-placed cut around the artery of his neck.

She shakes her sword from the blood, approaching cautiously the archer wheezing for breath. 

She crouches down, pressing a cloth over his wound as he willed his eyes over to hers. Blue and defiant, growing unfocused and dazed by the second.

“Who sent you?”

The other’s eyes dim, they flicker in between life and death, he glances at his dead comrade, spitting disdainfully at her face before he too joins the other.

She wipes the blood-laced saliva, opting to search among their belongings.

She searches around the ginger man’s pockets, the probable superior of them two, finding a piece of folded paper with the words ‘Aegir’ written on it, along with a time and place.

She looks at it for a moment, the pristine state of the paper, the way the ‘A’ was written with an unnecessarily long arc and crumpling it soon after. To sacrifice two men over a decoy, possibly more, given the cautiousness of the mastermind she deemed it prudent to go at the aforementioned location even if it had been a trap, probably the only lead they’ll ever get. 

She sighs, smelling still the foul smell of the spit and of fresh blood being spilt. 

She looks at the Pegasus, stretching its wings before flying off, and she remembers a simpler time, resting on someone’s shoulders and where she didn’t have to think about what a person could hiding even after their death.

.

They split their group in three. One was to stay rooted in their base luring in other ambushers that were sure to come; a small one was to head towards the place of meeting within a town of Aegir territory; the remaining one would head onwards to Enbarr, investigate and await update on the lead. 

They knew of an ambush waiting, and even so Byleth insisted to let herself be part of it, stemming a cold confrontation between her and their leader that only ended on her side due to the time constraints and because only she had seen the piece of paper. Still, Jeralt stuck Bau and Ivan -two of their stronger men- to her group, a less than optimal decision that she was unwilling to consent to, but did in the end with the finality of his tone.

They travel for days, disguised with capes and acting as simple merchants, a feat not too difficult with Ivan and Bau leading the story to others, though it was harder to convince once they came across a more seasoned trader during their journey.

Byleth’s a wood carver, she spends her day carving dolls of the Goddess to be sold, and thus people don’t find it odd even if she was most unsociable for someone of her profession.

“Mind giving a bit of your time, Byleth?” Ivan approaches with an easy smile, hands inside his pockets, eyes filled with intention. 

Byleth doesn’t respond, opting to put down the carving knife she holds to at least hear what the blond man had to say. She learned to never take at face value what people of outwardly agreeable appearance with a cunning caliber said upfront, what with her being swindled all of her pocket money once when a particularly charming village boy convinced young, gullible Byleth that his father had been dying of disease and he needed the money to care for his siblings.

The other smirks, a more challenging look on his face as he points to three women behind him, embroidered fans taken out to partially cover their well-cared skin, outrageously colourful dresses of intricate patterns stiffly clinging to their waists.

It was curious seeing noble women on the outskirts of the town, mingling with traveling merchants and be interested enough to pursue a conversation. Still, she shakes her head, taking up the carving knife again. “Don’t have the time.” She responds curtly, to which Ivan brings a finger in front of her, grin widening and halting her activity once again.

“They think of you as a ‘dashing, mysterious’ young man. They asked me to introduce you to them, and _maybe_ also for a bit of your time to spend an afternoon.”

Unimpressed, Byleth stares back. She supposed the cape, along with the loose dark clothing that she wore left much room for what kind of bulk she hid underneath, alluding to some sort of ambiguity when it came to her physique. It was rare for a mercenary as young as she to be on the road, and a girl on top of that, she understands. _Still_ , she shakes her head.

He smiles, patiently picking up on her refusal without a hint of frustration. “Nobles like to gossip, sometimes they make for the better informants for matters around their circle. And as you know, with a bigger fish like the Aegir, there’s really no better place to go to hear updates on our enemy. What do you think, Byleth?”

She weighs his words, finds enough reason in them to agree to the dull task as she clears her throat and approaches the young ladies awaiting, easily being led along by his confidence.

.

They like to discuss about tea, their arranged marriages and hear about Byleth’s ‘riveting, book-worthy tales of adventures’ across Fodlan, even if words escaped her, and her narration was lackluster and flat-toned at best. They do poise a level of noble arrogance that she had previously expected, though hardly alarming to a point where it would be harmful thoughts brewing to outright discrimination. It was just the way the society worked around the continent, especially when it came to the Empire of Adrestia, she had learned.

It is not until some bandits come looking for quick coin, Byleth wiping them to the floor and in their rushing string of praise they let pass word of similar incidents happening in town, darker incidents, such as people kidnapping, nobles and commoners alike, and the authorities’ attempts of effort being fruitless and futile- Byleth starts to think that Ivan might have had a point after all.

And it is not until the girls’ fiancés come running that she is fully convinced, spewing insults at Byleth’s common birth before each of them engage her in a duel, making a scene fitting of the cheaper books that she often sees her father (of all people) indulging in every so often, where Byleth wins and allows the three noble ladies the space in face of the crushing defeat to voice their worries. It’s public, comically unrefined, the ladies grieve at the loss of attention as they have to travel far to feel appreciated, while the boys moan about being busy with noble duties that required their full attention. _How could they ever slack, when even Minister Vestra himself came from far to trust them with these duties._

She grunts in her mind, loathing the way these nobles ran their mouths.

.

“So, how was it?” Ivan asks after Byleth returns, some trinkets offered as rewards in her pockets, handing them to the blond so he could find the proper way to sell with his commercial expertise.

She stares at the man, blond-haired with green eyes, he plays with the people that he draws in, though he never does them any harm, never asks more than he should. He’s kind to children, even more to elders, understandable once one hears of his more humble upbringing whom his grandparents raised him with. He’s also endearingly and jeeringly known as ‘Prince’ to any closer allies.

She relaxes a bit, it comes easily, as if she was content with being proven wrong. “You were right.”

Ivan’s mouth hangs open, a grin then stretches before he crosses his arms behind his head and a more boyish expression spreads along his face. “Guess I win this round, then.”

She heaves. “This wasn’t a game.”

“Oh no, I was talking to the sulking assassin over there.”

She looks towards Bau, back facing towards her and midnight hair pulled into a ponytail. When he looks at her, his amber eyes are betrayed, a grimace pulling down his face as Byleth stiffens in loss. He promptly goes back to carrying in the supplies for the day’s end; Ivan’s laughter filling in from behind.

Two days away from the meeting and it feels light, Byleth thinks about the business of tomorrow with the grey clouds looming on the distance and she carves tentative motherly faces of a goddess she’s never met.

.

In-between moments of rest and silence, where she could either not sleep or had no company she wanted to particularly seek or the rare occurrence of her drive to train her sword escaped her particularly, Byleth ponders on what she would do if she ever saw Pam again.

She imagines herself holding the side of her blade up to their neck as quick as following a fleeting glance of recognition; of slashing their throat or allowing the time for them to bleed out in pain; watching with neither rage or satisfaction as the life faded away from their clear grey eyes and their frizzy hair stained on a pool of their own blood. 

She had dozens of carefully concocted simulations that ran almost on top of each other of what may occur, and having the aforementioned person pin her by the wall with a sharp dagger that was already dripping with blood, one day away from the meeting when she decided to take the chance to survey the area, carefully disguised with her cape. It had also been considered, but hardly expected. 

She recalls turning an alley once she felt an animosity directed at her, hear the sound of her sword fall to the cobblestone with a resounding ‘clang’ as she stared not at the remorseless grey eyes but at the frizzy white hair that the other now adorned instead of black. 

Her eyes narrow defiantly.

“I had hoped for captain to come instead of you.”

She holds back a snark remark, opting to glare coldly. “He is not your _captain._ ” She bites threateningly low, freezing indifference cleaving and stunning the other in a moment of waste as Byleth presses forward, grabbing the other by their face. The injury around her neck stings, possibly deeper than she planned but Byleth has cut enough people to know that it wouldn’t be a fatal wound.

She presses Pam to the ground, locking their arms securely behind, waiting for them to quiet down as she holds the tip of her sword close to where the base of their shoulder was.

The other snarls, rancor-filled, frustrated to some extent, disappointed also. “It would have been fine if he were the one to kill me.” They cough, a wet sound that bellowed a deeper illness, blood spurts out.

“Why... did you kill Halcius?” She asks instead.

Widened grey eyes turn to her, grimacing in suspicion. They’re strong, pulling themselves up even when Byleth’s entire weight is pushing them down. Byleth is growing confident in her sword, but she certainly didn’t remember this strength when accounting Pam as a piece to her strategies. “Why do you care?”

Byleth falters, wrenching the grip on the arms tighter. “I don’t know.” 

Pam stares at her silently, softer, closer to what Byleth was used from the other than lifeless, desperate, stupidly reckless callousness they met her with. Even if Pam had grown stronger than the last time they’ve seen each other, Byleth suspects it has something to do with the change of hair colour, even then they’d never make the mistake to underestimate, not with a mentor such as Halcius. To meet her with nothing but a dagger, a laughable ambush that could have gone either way, it was hard to decipher the carelessness that Pam was usually so averse to.

She lets them go, deeming it unnecessary to continue this futile struggle when the other was already half-resigned to their death, she watches Pam wheeze and reaching for their chest, how long had they been sick, how long had they been hiding the bad cough, she wonders. She reaches for her pocket, throwing the object at the dark-skinned traitor, frowning as their usual sharp reflexes failed them and the metallic object rolled around the dirty alley floor.

They eye it blearily, leaning their back languidly against the wall. They hold the medallion with a trembling hand, an overwhelming emotion flitting. Their breaths steady, they look at her, with the same apathetic serenity they used to back when they were still traveling together.

“I have two sisters, a brother and a disabled mother.” 

She nods. “You’ve told me.”

“I had more. Three older brothers and two other sisters.” Grey eyes bore into hers, intense and feral, Byleth has not dreamed for a while, but she’s reminded of the ones she sees in them. “We would have been killed too if captain and master hadn’t come in to save us. Master Halcius took me under his wing while he stayed in the village, captain took care of another girl who had also been victimised in the attack.” 

“You killed your master.” Pam snorts, cold snarling teeth clenching as they stared at her with judging contempt.

“Master offered his own life to save mine. I caught the conversations between Duke Aegir and another noble by accident, and then-“ Pam bites their hand, holding back the rawness of their fresh grief.

She listens to their shuddering breaths, the irritated sobs muffled behind teeth, she doesn’t understand, but she doesn’t need to. She’s a mercenary.

“Is that why you wanted Jeralt to be the one here?”

Pam glances to her, aged gaze that was wrinkled, face full of pity that made her squirm uncomfortably behind the cover of her cape. “I wanted someone who knew me to see my end. Young daughter of the captain, you don’t know me, you hardly know yourself. You are-”

They don’t finish the sentence, but Byleth can imagine what it could be. She looks sideways, wondering if Bau and Ivan had thought of the long absence out of place.

“Will you not come back?”

“And be met with doubt, revenge-filled contempt and furious skepticism? I have no place in this world, I have not anymore.”

Byleth bites her lip, thinking of older days where it was simpler to just punch or stab her way out of the problem with childish innocence. “So you wish to die?”

“I wish for rest.”

The young mercenary runs a hand through her hair, feeling the heaviness of the other’s turmoil like an invisible weight she wasn’t sure what to do with. It’s suffocating, she realizes, a toxic hope for an end that only another could bring, a sense of belonging to where they were only needed and not where they wanted to be. It felt oddly familiar.

“Right. Give me your life then.”

“What?” Byleth closes their distance, blinking in confusion as she’s met with skeptical incredulity.

“If that doesn’t work, then let me buy it from you.”

“... What do you want my life for?” The other responds, not entirely aghast and flares something inside Byleth, decades old pride and countenance, she holds out her hand, and she imagines a grand hall instead of the stinky dark alley, their figures illuminated by dozens of overhanging chandeliers and their bodies draped in fine, vivid clothings.

“I’m a mercenary.” She shrugs. “You were too. You know how this works.”

“With my life as the price?” They ask, brilliant dark skin glistening against the moon glow. Pam’s mouth hangs open in crumbling hesitation, scent of blood from their breath and sickness eating away at their body from the inside, white hair that looked more like tangled spider webs than the intricate guiltless snow. Byleth feels, bloodcurdling heat rushing in her veins.“I want revenge.”

She nods, breathless, clasping their hand onto her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far.
> 
> Please R&R (*´∇｀*)


	6. A Traitor's Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has grown cocky

Making Pam wager the remainder of their fading life on Byleth’s hands had been a task easier than convincing Bau and Ivan to be cooperative with their former road comrade.

Understandably so, but they were also half a day away from throwing themselves into an ambush, risk their lives and purposefully giving the advantage over to the enemy (who has disposal to dark magic, now that they know)- eventually, they had to cave in, even if with a generous amount of skepticism that had more than tensed the air of levity from the prior day. 

Byleth appreciates it, truthfully. Mercenaries rarely went out their way for another, and when they did they seldom pried further into the matter or let it rest at least until they were in the right disposition to worry about it. Reasons of taking a job could vary, but execution was never personal. Making allies of old enemies for a job was not entirely out of place, so Byleth hadn’t been expecting any complications when she brought Pam back to their inn, even knowing that Halcius had been well respected among the men. 

Still, they agreed on a back-up plan in case Pam betrayed their side. Cautious, considering that the latter was leashed to the Aegir nobles, voluntarily so from they had told, offered a place to belong in return of being an active participant in their more unethical experiments.

Byleth and Bau lock gazes, something similar must have occurred within Ordelia all those years ago, and she can’t shake off the feeling that these two situations were not entirely disconnected from each other.

“If Pam really didn’t kill Halcius, then there is no reason to not take their word for now.” Ivan reasons, and Byleth is inclined to believe him solely based with how his ability to read people had facilitated their whole journey so far. 

“Why did they not return us for help?” Bau asks this time, arms crossed with gaze over at something on the ground.

“People seldom like to show their mistakes. Even more so when it comes to the life of an esteemed member of our group such as Halcius that has been lost. Besides,” Green eyes turn to her in contemplation. “They are not much older than Byleth, they must have had their doubts about their place of belonging.”

The assassin sighs, but Byleth cannot shake off the green-gazed intensity, something that Ivan was trying to convey.

The rest of the evening is uneventful, Byleth hardly has any desire to sleep, but she tries to conserve her energy for what it was to come in roughly twelve hours.

She hears the town’s bard drunken singing, a legend of the Goddess and her faithful envoy Seiros, a tale that was not as interesting, or tune as pleasant as the slurring behavior of the bard, common folks urging him to shut up with tired, sleep-disturbed voices from their windows.

She holds the scabbard with her sword in those moments, imagining her death over and over again until she can prevent it, until all the blood that had been spilled is not theirs and doesn’t stain beyond the height of her waist. Her father’s voice chides again, exasperated and growing impatient, his sword punily out of place and small in his hands where a longer weapon should be held.

She closes her eyes, waiting.

.

Pam meets them at dawn once again, more bruises than Byleth has seen last, a worn air about them. The weight of their body as they slump forwards is alarmingly light, and she cannot quench the brewing discomfort in her chest, the sudden desire to pummel something into the ground. The discomfort stirs, even more so as the first rays of sun crack through and they light up Pam’s head of frizzy white hair in an almost blinding way. She runs a finger over the bulging bruise below their grey eye, mute silence filling the small group.

Pam breathes, straining before getting on their feet with a face of bravado that was rather futile, though none of them voiced it out.

“They found me out. It’s not safe anymore to go.” Pam trembles, unlike the collected mercenary Byleth once knew, but perhaps closer to what made Halcius gave up his life for.

Bau huffs. “Diving into an ambush could really not be considered a safe decision either.”

“Rather, it could also be an advantage now they found out now and have been thrown off so close to the meeting.” 

They look towards her, three levels of expectancy that lifted the pulsing weight around her ribs. She imagines everything that could go wrong and it is many, but even so she faces them with an even disposition, unwilling to let them down. “We’re going.”

“Someone’s confident.” Ivan chirps, a tight, small smile pulling on his anxious face. 

.

It’s one thing to throw oneself in with the countenance and confidence that it will not be the place they will fall; another is to meet the mastermind behind Halcius’s death, Pam’s white hair and this whole ordeal that had made them come all the way from Kingdom lands; to hear the curling, bloodlust scream from the mercenary and suddenly it’s a much heavier situation than Byleth had alluded herself to think.

She stares into the bottomless hooded eyes, narrowed and slanted and protected behind ready archers and mid-chant mages, besides a generously bulky man and she feels like she has not seen the face of evil for so long. 

It’s unsettling unfamiliar but still vaguely reachable, the man in question is tall and lanky, disheveled black hair and sunken cheeks that gave more the appearance of a humanoid creature than entirely that of a noble, and yet the mercenary felt it was hardly the first time she’s seen him (or the likes of him).

By the corner of her vision she sees Ivan stiffen, the lance he holds he points it forwards, the noble sighing in indifferent disdain as the stout one cackled in mirth.

“You should have not come, foolish ones.” 

Byleth parries the first arrow, throwing a well-aimed Fire at the archer and marking the very start of the conflict. 

It’s mayhem, an organized but frantic mess. They have formations, archers at the back, mages by the sides and physical attackers at the front. They were not impressive in number, but Byleth and the rest of them were surrounded.

She presses forward, teeth gritting at the stinging wound by a Thunder, slashing down her foes in a single-driven focus. A soothing freshness follows, the Priest they hired helping out from his place hidden in one of the surrounding woods, concealing his presence.

The terrain was more advantageous for their familiarity than as a disadvantage even with all the laid-out traps. She sees Bau expertly avoiding any of them with a keen eye, purposefully steering away from where the mages were closest with his lack of resistance for spells, using his speed as leverage to swiftly finish his battles and not stay rooted for too long.

Ivan is the tanker unit out of them, he boasts a considerable resilience for both spells and physical attacks; he’s more of of a mid-fighter rather than be suitable to be on the frontlines, but he’s managing through with Pam’s support, their newfound strength an asset now that they were on the same side.

Byleth scrapes the side of a mage’s neck, it was hard to discern the exact positioning with the heavy clothing they wore. The mage scatters off a few steps in panic, a hand raised in Miasma she recognized, though they had hardly any time to complete it as she surges forward. She cuts through their arm, some distance away from where she aimed towards their head as a throwing axe intercepts the motion of her weapon and she staggers sideways.

A hand less and bleeding out, the mage squirms without any sound of pain (as if they were used to it), raising the other in succession for another attack. It takes her by surprise, but hardly relevant as she spins in her imbalance, swinging an armoured leg to knock the mage out promptly.

She immediately looks towards where the offending weapon came from, grabbing her sword as she ran forward.

It was a miscalculation, she decides later on.

The meek soldier clearly could have never had the cunningness to throw a high-precision weapon like an axe without hesitation. He was small and trembling, struggling in holding the shield he had like a lifeline. But Byleth does not read people like Ivan does, she is tactical but people-inexperienced, she does not expect a comrade hiding right behind the trembling soldier, the latter’s screams dying out in agony as they wrench a lance through his back.

Her eyes widen, having only the time to bring an arm to lessen the damage, feeling her skin punctured and torn apart, searing with pain and unable to move it as the bloodied tip of the lance stops inches away from her face.

She wheezes, growling in painful anger as she attempts to push it back with failing strength.

Her nose crunches, smelling burning Fire and Thunder readied behind her, arrows to be fired, taking her and the other two people closest to be sacrificed.

A second passes, she clenches her teeth, readying for her decision, and brings her sword down, cutting through her arm as she reels back just in time for most of the attacks to miss.

She runs back, heavy sweat dripping from her face as she cuts part of her cape to cover the stump. It hurts like hell had crawled out from the wound, no amount of one sided beatdowns from Jeralt combined could make for the more pain of losing her limb, and the void of bubbling pain that remained; she thinks it’s the adrenaline and the damnable danger she’s still not out of, but she does not ponder too much about the it, using the rubble caused by the attack as a cover and her remaining hand to cut down any closer enemies in a rush of strength. Their screams are lost in the falling debris, she hides afterwards behind a tree, catching her breath as confusion stirs from the lacking corpse among the other two charred together.

She squeezes her eyes shut for a second, biting her tongue down as she wraps the cloth tightly around her wound.

Soothing freshness soon follows, it was hardly helpful for the injuries she had, but nonetheless grateful for the help as her head clears and the bleeding stops.

She surveys the rest of the group, Bau had already taken notice of her absence and he’s most likely aware of her place, though that didn’t seem to quench his concerns as his movements grow visibly rushed and predictably aggressive. Ivan and Pam are still fending off a battalion, arguably in better states compared to the rest.

She sees the nobles stationed some ways off, protected by four men. The stout Duke Aegir seemed unfazed by what was happening beneath his nose, but the cautious lanky noble was far from being relaxed despite his outwardly unchanging appearance. She recognized the glint of suspicion, the hushed words spoken to one of the men to look for the hiding mercenary, perhaps this too, could be used as a leverage.

_“You’ve grown cocky”_ Her father had said, voice thundering even now in Byleth’s head even as she stills the trembling of her hand and her vision tunnels to where the two nobles were leisurely standing like two golden statues in a wasteland of wars.

Carefully, she maneuvers her way to the Priest, attentive to the growing distress of the enemies taking notice of her absence.

The other glares. “We agreed that you’d in no way come to me during the confrontations.”

“Desperate times.” She responds curtly as the other snorts. “How far can you warp?”

The Priest glowers, grimacing. “I will not.” She understands, warping someone expended considerable recovery magic from the caster, a less than desirable state in this already disadvantageous situation. On top of that, because of the large magic expense, often times it could alert of other mages of the caster’s location, endangering them on the process.

“Three buillons if you do.”

“My life is worth more than that, kid. You shouldn’t have even the right to negotiate with me after breaching our contract like this.” The Priest snarls, pulling crooked teeth out at her.

Her violet eyes harden, head buzzing with anticipation. Bau was exerting himself in putting off the load of enemies from Byleth and fending from what remained of his own, it was a matter of time before a mistake happened. As quick as a breeze she held the other on a deadlock with her blade, the splinted bits of bone and blood still coated by its edge. “You will do it, before I cut you down.”

The Priest’s brown eyes glare with loathing betrayal, but Byleth was desperate, and voices were drawing close from behind the foliage they were hiding.

“This is why you mercenaries...”

She feels her vision blur, in fact her whole body blurred and contorted like a stretchable band being squeezed and extended by careless fingers, the effect of the magic on her. One moment she was behind the dense foliage, staring into angry brown eyes that promised compensation if they saw another day. Then, the sun blinded her, and she was airborne, two feet away from the two nobles’ heads.

She regains her composure, readying her sword, gratifying satisfaction at the stout man’s panicking collapse on the ground and the lanky man-

-He’s still indifferent, a slightly widened gaze that quieted down, he’s unfazed, Byleth reels back, something wasn’t-

A curling scream, bloodlust layered with a monstrous edge. Enough to throw Byleth’s composure off, she feels the danger pricking at her back with more urgency than was to end the conflict as soon as possible, staggering and tripping over her own feet as she looks back.

It’s Pam, swaying off balance with an oak tree-sized writhing root growing out of their eye, pained moans, bulging lumps growing and retreating under their skin, it was a nauseating sight. The other didn’t seem to have control, their skin was unnervingly pale and blue, blood sputters out and frays the ground in uneven fans, a head-sized eye opens on the trunk body that blinked an eerie green and darted around the place as if it was a parasite just born to the world.

Something stirs in her, an unrecognizable feeling among the murky chasm where others rested, it ripples and it grows, it’s hot, and it keeps spreading.

She locks gazes briefly with Ivan, helplessly shocked and fallen to the ground with a bleeding wound on his side; Byleth runs back with all her strength, throwing her remaining hand forward in a desperate attempt to reach him. Ivan smiles, torn and sad, relieved and resigned and then-

_Crunch_

Byleth used to dream. 

Fantastic places not found in Fodlan, even more mythical tales than a Goddess who has walked this earth, of a palace unheard of its splendor, magic in everything that people touched.

A king’s throne, glorified and then abandoned, of battlefield ten times larger than the ones she’s been and she knew blood before drawing her first.

She used to dream. Vacant rooms dusty and painted in red, sordid words written in a language unknown but filled with their hatred, of mountain-sized toothed fish dominating the skies, tortured prisoners to be sacrificed, and yet none of those scenes were quite as unsettling as seeing a malformed monster grow out from a human body.

To Byleth, nothing changes. A death is just a death, she will still live on, and tomorrow will still come. To others, they see a short mercenary with a limb less, hunched back in loss with a youth innocent to the inner politics of a stirring empire. Then they see the blazing violet that turn red in blind fury, and then Duke Aegir’s vision shifts, head lopped off from his overweight neck.

Byleth growls, more stranger than herself as she aims for the other noble, whose slanted gaze glowed a green identical to the parasite, contemptuously regarding her with callous grudge. She doesn’t think of it, she doesn’t think of anything but acting on the impulsive rage that has erupted from her like an overload of years worth of turmoil, she raises her sword high, dull silver under the clouded day.

“ _AaaaaGhhhh”_ She screams out, voice choking on her throat as a bulging root pierced her midriff. It’s uncomfortable, revolting. Its texture is harsh like the stump of an old tree, blood spills in vomit, arm losing strength as she glared at the noble. It effortlessly lifts her high up above the ground, she hears Bau somewhere behind before it wrenches out of its hold and she falls.

“You should have not come, foolish ones.” She hears.

.

She blinks open of her stupor, seconds after knocking the mage out and already feeling her body convulsing in shock reflex from what supposed to be a wet sound colliding with the ground.

Byleth feels around her torso. No gaping wound, _two_ hands.

Disarming, perturbing, for a moment she thought she had been back to the day prior, hollow gaze at the night as she thought about her death over and over again. It was vivid enough to still feel the stump of her arm throbbing at the fresh air even if it was connected, real enough to reach for her stomach and recoiling at the flesh where a hole had been. 

She stops her thoughts to parry off a dagger, seeing the offending enemy some feet away, shield up but otherwise unguarded.

Byleth dives in, then she recalls a nagging sense of restlessness, and she dodges to her right as the spear wrenched its way past the man’s body from behind, inches away from hitting her face. The meek man shrieks in agony the same way she’s seen before, Byleth spins, she doesn’t allow herself to think too much into it before swinging her sword at the other one hiding behind, immediately jumping out of the way to prepare for the onslaught of magic and arrows.

She knows better than putting her faith in hallucinations, no, visions in which she is not sure of their origin or reason, but she was also desperate enough to make use of anything in her arsenal. The Thunder that hits the ground creates rubble, raising dust to the place as Byleth uses it as cover to go behind the enemies, camouflaging her blows and stirring confusion, letting them hit each other.

Byleth navigates through the field with an expertise trained, seeing the fall of confidence in a trap backfired and suddenly she’s afraid of what this newfound knowledge could do.

Soothing freshness closes the cuts around her body, reminding Byleth that it was stills ways from being over.

She runs back to where Bau is, calling for the assassin’s attention as he rears back for a short moment of attention.

“There.” She points ahead, where she knew the nobles were. The assassin stares at her, trust far above what a wayward group of mercenaries of their caliber should offer to another in his tight shoulders, sweat dripping onto the cuts on his face as he nods mutely and goes to relay the information to the others. Byleth throws a well-aimed Fire at them, the flames spreading quickly through dry grass as it festers and throws them off.

As before, she convinces the reluctant cleric to warp them ahead, drawing a line of blood across their cheek in swift persuasion.

Her body convulses, limbs curling onto her neck and vision splitting into blotches. She tries to breathe, closing the mind to the revolting feeling of magic pouring onto her whole self, feels the first of her sense of touch returning and three presences next to her, and then the bottomless, hooded pits of black that glowed faintly a swamp green on the edges. 

She throws herself at him, remembering the green glowing eye of grudge before slashing away at his face as the latter staggers back, unfortunately still alive. He grips his face, eyes closed at the blood pooling around it from the cut across his front, Byleth sighs, Pam’s unmistakable presence relieving her.

Ivan and Bau hold the men protecting the nobles in place, just as before the stout one falls back in panic. A look of mutual understanding washes over her and the other mercenary, Byleth steps back and tightens the grip around her sword as she surveys the lanky noble staggering to his feet.

Pam drags the sword in their hands across the stout man’s chest, putting an end to their revenge as the eyes of the man responsible for their master’s death roll back and his mouth opens in soundless agony, falling onto a puddle of his own blood.

Byleth huffs, marginally satiafied, bringing her own sword up to end the other noble’s life, be finally done with this endeavor.

It happens in the split of a second. 

She feels it, the animosity from behind, somewhere she had never foreseen jumping at her with a bloodlust unseen. It was too close to prevent, but still far enough for Byleth to rationalize it for a second time, that she will see her death again so soon.

She hears Bau gasp in pain, Byleth staggering forward but only feeling weight and not the pricking pain of her insides being gouged, then she turns around and her blood runs cold.

Pam is behind her, unmoving body leaning against hers and shielding a lance that pierced their stomach. She hears them wheeze, then she mutely tears her eyes away to Bau, lying face down, she doesn’t know what has come over the assassin but her mind turns its gears to the worst. 

Ivan’s dull green eyes stare at her, Byleth looks at the blond man and it was as if she couldn’t recognize him anymore.

“Don’t take it personally, Byleth.” He mutters with a parched throat, genuinely aghast. 

Naturally, Byleth knows. Just as Halcius has put trust over something, Byleth had inadvertently trusted the people she travelled with and believed that they were upfront with their standings without ulterior motives. She trusted their loose ties. Honor had no place in their job, but she had taken it for granted, and she can’t find herself to regret, even if the bloodied weapon that Ivan holds turns to her much larger and intimidating than it looked besides her, fighting off enemies and looking out for her back.

She thinks of her father, and of the lance she never had the chance to take on.

She doesn’t close her eyes, but Byleth also doesn’t see the immediate course of events that follow. One moment stretched, and Bau was fending off Ivan with an angry snarl, an impressive strength that she could see etched on the blond’s face, panic growing unnervingly and relief dares itself to flicker on her expression.

She holds Pam still, quiet and enraptured in the way the assassin moves like a trained weapon with poise and grace, as if he had been meticulously honed for a life of duels.

Ivan realizes the shift, he reads people like no other and turns towards her. Byleth is hardly prepared but not entirely defenseless as she instinctively takes on her sword. Ivan runs past her, followed by a whisk of magic and him and the surviving noble are gone, the Cleric they’ve hired nowhere to be seen.

She had grown cocky, she cements Jeralt’s point. Hot, bubbling shame and anger, at being spared, at being not killed and left for life because she wasn’t seen as a threat.

She’s grown prideful, she realizes. Grandiose dreams that have occupied her mind, that have turned the peace of her mundanity into memories of songs and flags proudly raised to the sky, believing that she’s a bigger gear in the ultimate path of life, written to do things that will be sung and heard across the lands.

Her father beats her attitude for it, he says she is not fit of being a mercenary if she continued acting that way, but it’s a part of Byleth that stubbornly refuses to be beaten, a flair for armors glistening silver and capes that flowed easily with her movements; for parades in the towns they come across and witnessing duels between two masters of the sword, Byleth is a mercenary, but she believes she’s also something else.

When Bau turns his amber eyes and they're like light on that clouded day and held the weapon in his hand like a tool made to be used by him; Byleth’s chest tightens and looks down onto closed grey eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading (*´∇｀*)  
> This is arguably my weakest chapter, but I'm satisfied with how it turned out compared to my expectations.
> 
> Please R&R C:
> 
> ALSO, I've drawn some ideas of my interpretation of young Byleth, check them out if you'd like to:  
> Edit: I don't know how to link properly lmao, so please have this instead, if you'd still like to see
> 
> https://yatorain.tumblr.com/search/yu_art


	7. The imperial capital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They head for Enbarr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello djksla I am alive! Hope you enjoy reading!

Byleth and Bau go into hiding, not keen about showing their face around the lands where they killed its chief.

Despite Duke Aegir’s corruption and the high taxes he imposed on his people, Aegir lands were still renown to be rich and where merchants could hope to become rich, and Byleth knows enough her way around people to expect some sort of patriotic fury at their side looking for revenge.

They spend a few days inside a dense forest just outside the Aegir lands, inside a cave to watch over Pam’s critical condition as they suffered from the consequences of severe blood loss and what they found to be a lack of nutrition about their skinny body.

Byleth thinks of the black-haired noble with sunken cheeks and impossibly tall, but Pam didn’t have the glow of health on their skin or liveliness to their movements, and she doesn’t hope for them.

Three uneventful days after, they pass away after a coughing feat and they hold Byleth’s hand with a blood-drenched smile, more at peace than she’s ever seen on the mercenary since Halcius died. “M-My life... I... paid it.” And they drift away, turned into a corpse to be buried and undisturbed among the green foliage of the woods.

The birds chirp at the light of a new day, restlessness gnaws at her, at the tips of her fingertips that split and bled from their latest altercation, where many, many questions had surged.

She lets it fester, she doesn’t have the mind to think about them when she reels back each time at the sour sense of defeat as Ivan ran past her with a held lance, opting to help his lord instead of killing her.

Her father scolds her in Byleth’s thoughts, but her pride surmounts, it mutes the life that is still breathing in her, loathing the way there is not a wound that pierces through her flesh and bathed in blood.

“You sure you want to head to Enbarr, Leth?” Byleth turns her eyes to Bau, contemplation coming as the sense of distance grows when she recalls the way he fought last battle and showed that he was far more than what he let on, and that for years Byleth had believed to be just it. But again, those thoughts die once the bubbling ego stirs in her, angry and green-gazed, she nods though the assassin’s sharp eyes hold.

“This debt he gave me, I’ll return it.” She responds, the heat by her hip where her scabbard rests burning through her clothes. “ _Tenfold_.”

Bau opens his mouth to say something, but Byleth has already moved forward, not willing to look back until she runs the sword across Ivan’s neck.

.

What facilitates their journey in an unexpected way is the lack of news of their involvement in the brewing turmoil of Aegir territory, everyone still trying to decipher the identities of who decapitated their chief and abandoned his body in the forest to be found two days later, eaten and festered by maggots.

They talk to passing Empire soldiers, none of them with a hint of suspicion in their gaze and it’s confusing, surely another of Ivan’s meddling, perhaps he doesn't believe them to be capable to catch up to where they were with any effort. Perhaps he is still mocking them, throwing crumbs of bread to starving beggars, perhaps he never believed that Byleth was deserving of her place besides Jeralt.

The way to Enbarr is filled with silence, questions at the tip of her tongue before it’s swayed by each time she’s reminded of Ivan, and each time she broods about it, eyes flaring like a cauldron whistling in high heat.

It’s not until Bau corners her one day, an agreeable day that had began with tentative conversation before Byleth retreated again into heavy silence, the kind that is ‘loud’ and tense, like she is purposefully closing herself to the assassin once a thought ran across her mind. Bau unceremoniously grabs the other by her collar, ignoring the wide-eyed surprise before letting go as they reach an open field, his dagger taken out already as he readies a stance.

Byleth doesn’t question too much, a spar is not an uncommon activity among them, but then it is much more than that and she’s reminded of Jeralt beating her down until the sun sets and the wheezing sore muscles cry for rest but a fulfilling sense of satisfaction also courses.

She doesn’t notice the time passing, she does not see the extent of her bruises until the orange glow of afternoon hits her from left and she’s made far too aware of what happened priorly once again, and Bau takes the advantage to hit her right cheek with the back of his dagger, merciless in his attack.

He fight like a seasoned predator that has proven its place at the top, less like a nimble leopard, more like a resting lion that would humor others occasionally.

His amber eyes bore, like wheat fields caught on the sunset, appearance impeccable whilst Byleth lies flat on the ground gasping for all the breath in the world.

“Getting worked up because of some other person, since when Byleth?.” He comments, a tone lower than normal and it was if he had thrown another punch to her face.

Her mouth sets onto a thin line, the clouds move loosely and slowly in the purple-ish sky as a gaggle flies overhead. She’s reminded of simpler times, and she thinks about Jeralt and of the restlessness that stubbornly clings to her, blonde and green-eyed with an easy smile that charmed anyone on his path.

Bau’s weight settles next to her, he smells of sandy evenings and somewhere from far, but he is familiar, he’s someone she knows.

“Enbarr?”

She nods, Fire dancing around her fingertips and morphing into shapes of poorly designed horses and she imagines them jumping across fences of a modest farm. Bau recounts a story from his past experience with horses, a show of trust she notices, and she listens intently without a word.

“Tenfold.” She says later that evening, mouth full of deer meat.

He blinks, face flickering with the fireplace they built, an amused smile fleetingly precious, and her bruises ache, she has the urge to draw her weapon once again and challenge his strength with her might.

“You’re not very honest, are you?”

.

_“Foolish child of man, you dare to wake me up from my eternal slumber.” A high voice chirps, divine and motherly, Byleth doesn’t see anything but it was as if she never needed to._

_Green eyes open, slanted pupils that were her size and they stared her down. Womanly lips, a harsh grimace but even the creased skin of their grimace robbed nothing of their beauty. They were guiltless, betrayed, cynical but unbearably hopeful._

_Byleth feels, suffocating from her lungs set free, a palpitating sound on her chest that grew loud like hammer tampering on a sword. Tears fill in her, she was feeling... so much._

_“You are-“_

.

She stirs, breath knocked out of her lungs, unable to get up.

She smells the familiar dirt more than she does of the wildflowers that cover the entire plains; her eyes close, heavy and hinged.

The blow to her arm throbs, it will bruise up, affect how she’ll move it for the next weeks though she could find no annoyance in the pain or inconvenience.

Bau revealing more of himself is admittedly more relieving than she’d like to admit, but in place of the doubts and unspoken words that were left behind, now were afternoons being beaten up by an apologetic man, whose hands with a sword were the likes she’s never seen anyone wield before. But it was more the fact that the other’s amber eyes would suddenly fill with shock and then blur as quick as the wind to reach her when she lost her footing over exerting her efforts too much, a ready ‘sorry, my bad’she hears before he even says it, and it was that that definitely irked Byleth the most from their ‘spars’.

She shoots up to her feet, slightly glaring as she sees the assassin in a position ready to run after her again as she tightens the grip around her sword and pounces forward.

Bau’s reflexes are quick, he steps back and assumes a tight defensive position that was still open to allow for counterattacks, but Byleth has grown gradually used, it’s a slow progress but progress nonetheless.

She grows used to his tendency of using his sword to block the first front blow instead of parrying it, under any circumstances; he also uses his right foot first when looking to side-step her blow and knocking down her back while she loses the momentum; his ‘I’ll be strict, but I’ll never attack you first’ mindset.

Surely, in any other situation that was not a spar, she imagines the assassin turning the gears of his head and changing his tactics frequently in a race of mind games and strength he enjoyed to partake, but in these daily spars of theirs he slacks a bit more, he knows not to hurt her or be hurt.

With a thud, her sheathed sword hits Bau’s head as Byleth uses the lowered position of his sword to jump on him, he blocks first and breaks the balance of her weapon second, and Byleth is counting on that as she let herself purposefully stagger back and risk taking a blow as she chanced on the timing.

She huffs at her small success, courteously not doing anything as Bau nurses the bump that would form on his head.

He winces, but then he looks at her and laughs out heartily before growing ‘stricter’ with the spar. Needless to say, Byleth is left with trembling arms and legs, sweat that clings to her clothes and a healthy tan that begins to show from hours spent training in a coverless plains and under the harsh sun of the spring. Tomorrow they finally reach Enbarr, and the tiredness keeps the anxious pool by the base of her stomach away for the time being.

.

They head for an inn when they reach the imperial capital, hoping to find a message left by her father.

The city of Enbarr is big, urbanized and business friendly, with interestingly many tools of war built upon restricted towers or buildings scattered around the place, making it appear far less civilian-friendly from a first glance.

Canals surrounds it, common residential districts litter by the outskirts like a protective shield to the nobles living inside who were surrounded by water. It almost feels like it was built to withstand wars and invasions.

Bridges made of brownish stone connect the different parts of the city, Byleth finds it pleasantly appealing, but also practical.

The streets clamor as she waits outside of the inn for Bau. She covers her appearance with a cape in caution of any knowing eyes able to link her appearance to the incident in Aegir lands, though even the conspicuously inconspicuous appearance seemed to draw no attention with the way the streets clamored and buzzed with people moving from one place to another.

She hears passing conversations of a festival celebrating the emperor’s youngest daughter’s birthday, a princess that will turn five with the distinctive clear eyes of her imperial lineage and blacks locks from her father, numerous people have not stopped mentioning how lovely her appearance is, though she found it more rare that they knew anything at all from a royal so young.

From what she hears around the Kingdom, few people are able to accurately describe the Crown Prince of Faerghus beyond his age and similar features to his father, and the state of unrest in Alliance lands made it hard to pinpoint an exact candidate as its heir.

Regardless, she hopes to be able to glimpse some of their festivities independently of the reason or person. She liked festivities, especially those that were big enough where she’d still be able to feel safe within her own privacy. And boisterous enough to grab some food from the busy stales, nothing immense, but it was definitely a guilty pleasure that would have anyone of proper upbringing frown upon.

A hand touches her shoulder. She looks behind, staring up to a smiling face hidden under a hood.

“Ready to explore a bit?”

She continues to stare, silent.

“Cap left about three days ago. Lady wasn’t sure where, but I reckon he’s still hanging around somewhere.” Bau's eyes twinkle, sometimes they remind her of scathing lamps left alight for hours inside a big, spacey room. “I bet he found a lead and is ready to go and finish off the geezer’s last request. We could wait for him, but I think you might like the alternative better.”

She nods, falling into familiar steps with the assassin as they scamper to join the rest of the busy crowd.

It would have been easy for Bau to follow the trail that Jeralt left, to find discrepancies that could lead to his whereabouts, but when the captain’s daughter looks at the decorated buildings with a gaze longer than a mere glance, and she is trying to turn her attention to every little event that occurs with an attitude less resembling a hawk but more of a cub out in the wild, he decides to rest his shoulders and let them be swept by the joyous occasion. The Aegir incident seemed far in his mind.

They stop at the mouth of a bridge when Byleth pulls onto his cape, consequently making Bau to still in his advance and for people behind them to push their way through with a complaint or some sort of judging glare directed at them.

He follows her eyes, where a group of people gathered, dressed like commoners and holding wooden planks with an angry mob demeanour.

“Protests.”

Byleth turns a head to him, expectantly waiting for him to elaborate though he isn't especially keen on it, being as averse to politics between nobles as he is. “Unrest about the amount of tax money, I’d say.“

“And change in trading commerce policies. It has become strict and expensive to even put up a stand for the coming festival.” An average-sized man elaborates for him, he is dressed head to toe in dapper clothes of shades of brown, a merchant he educatedly guesses.

Bau didn’t like eavesdropping strangers usually, but the man’s skill on his craft was smolderingly serene and confident enough for him to feel at ease, the other’s merchant charm he faulted as they engaged in further conversation that would normally have him reel back from.

While that occurs, Byleth stirs as she feels an enmity coming from somewhere above.

Looking around from a partially obscured vision due to her cape, she blinks when she spots a similarly clothed figure, leaning from behind a house’s chimney and balancing a rock on their hand.

They were of a smaller stature than that of an adult, and people on the roofs were easily ignored in these times of preparation, though they don’t feel the needle-like anger like she does pricking on her skin, the barest feeling of flesh being punctured, but it was present nonetheless.

She looks towards Bau, who had not yet reacted in his glee about conversing about the adrestian fineries that she couldn’t bring herself to listen to, then the crowd in front of them shift and anger surges in all directions, Byleth is pushed roughly from a man trying to walk back from something, though she quickly gains her bearings.

She looks ahead, to the protesting mob arguing with a row of people who’ve come up to them, she sees someone clutching their head on the ground, helped by many others.

She snaps her head back, eyes widening as they met the culprit’s and the second they dart from the scene of their crime; so does Byleth.

“Wait-wha-Byleth!”

The crowd tampers with her field of vision and slows down her path, so she turns a corner to a street less dense of people, running up stairs that brought her closer in height with the culprit, all the while tracking the latter without a moment of rest.

She jumps on the carriage that passes, making the owner hiss and drop his merchandise when she steps on its tent, using it as leverage to bring her to a small villa’s balcony.

She stops, clearing her nose, smelling the intricate smell of something out of place some houses down from where she is.

When the maid of the villa runs up to the balcony with a distressed look and carrying a broom as a weapon against any stray cat, Byleth takes it from the hands of the shrieking maid and uses it to jump higher to the roof, then as a pole to balance her body as she runs across the uneven blue bricks.

There is a big gap between this house and another, one that she overcomes by laying the broom as a precarious bridge to cross, but it snaps at her weight, leaving her dangling after a moment of a desperate jump forwards, watching the broken material narrowly missing a passing family’s head and having them fuming at her in comprehensible anger.

Byleth breathes, brings herself up again with ease and follows the trail of uncanniness that the culprit had left.

They notice her presence some ways in, taking difficult turns around with plenty of gaps and holes that could end any less attentive person’s mobile life, but Byleth was highly trained by a group of mercenaries from the day she could walk steadily without help, and not even a local prankster’s familiarity with the place could beat the amount of experience that came with a life led on the roads, working odd jobs for coin.

Furthermore, no unexpected gap or weak roofing could ever stun her more than the prophetic visions she’s had back in Aegir territory which she still cannot make any sense from, and thus their chase ends when the caped figure makes a mistake and slows them down, and Byleth taking full advantage of it grabs onto them as they’re ready to jump onto the next roof, making both of them stumble and fortunately fall onto a stack of hay that breaks their fall.

They cough at the feel of air knocked out of their lungs, Byleth recovers quicker and pins them down to prevent any escape, blinking as she saw the figure’s face.

She recalls a bard in passing singing about the Empire, back still in Aegir lands. It was strangely educational with the amount of information crammed in his verses like lines of textbooks followed with a melody, and it was absolutely boorish to a point that Byleth only listened with half an ear when he went on to sing about every tree lineage of each noble house.

_“Noble families serve them, the father and mother of the Empire, the sun of Adrestia, dressed in red and regal, crystal clear eyes overseeing the people with a stern but unshakable will, they are the Hresvelg born-bred rulers-“_

The uncanny feeling she felt must have been their ‘royal lineage’ now that she thought better of it, soundlessly staring at undignified clear eyes.

The other hisses, hand grabbing onto her wrist in a vain attempt of undoing her hold, they were severely lacking in strength, she notes as she hears people starting to gather following the ruckus they’ve made.

Byleth reacts by pulling the other along and covers their mouth, darting behind a nearby shed’s side to hide from the view of any onlookers. Drawing attention to her would be effectively the worst choice to make following the incident they became tangled in with the death of Duke Aegir, though there still were no named suspects or clues to what the culprits looked like (courtesy of Ivan, no doubt), it was still better to be safe and lay low until they were out of empire lands.

She blinks when the other bites her hand, stubbornly increasing their strength as she doesn’t flinch back from the sudden attack.

Slowly, she lets the figure go, eyes not straying away from the shockful of pristine white hair that they had. Then, she notices the garbs they wear, sturdy material that is not a commoner’s but definitely does not bellow of their royal status.

“Y-You, do you know who you are dealing with?”

He stands on his feet, back straight and staring down at her with an incredible disposition of years of training and correction, and suddenly Byleth is not sure anymore of why did he even disguise himself if he is going to act this way with any unwanted encounter.

She sighs, getting up and dusting the dirt and clinging hay from her clothes. She stands at the same height as the other, a matter in which her pleasure is not mirrored as the young empire prince glares hotly at her through his clear eyes.

“Such behavior is worthy of a sentence were we ever in any other circumstances.” He glares, fury cutting in the paleness of their skin and the nails that he digs inside his gloved hands. Byleth understands a deeper meaning hiding beneath, a person-sized scar that runs deep and bleeds and she sees clear grey eyes smiling in mirth before closing under the damp, bleak walls of the cave.

The prince flinches when Byleth awkwardly lowers down on her knee, a hand raised to her chest in a gesture of deference. “Apologies, Your Highness. I did not realize the identity of your person.” She feels his tense figure relax, then tensing again as he clears his throat, and a light air fills around them.

“A-As long as you understand. It would defeat the purpose of my disguise if anyone saw you in that state, s-so for the time being I’ll allow you to treat me as a fellow commoner.”

She nods, standing up again and stares into much kinder clear eyes that reminds her of lakes light up by a purple sky and a fading sun rippling through the water. He has a rosy glow to his cheeks, a mouth turned downwards that was doing none of its purpose and straight, well-groomed shoulder length white hair with hints of green.

He is a royal through and through even with garbs of a commoner, but there is also the unmistakable disdain that she sees Bau look sometimes when he thinks no one is watching, she pretends to not have seen it.

“Speak your name, stranger. It’s only expected for two people to exchange introductions at this point, is it not?” He crosses his arms and huffs with a disappointed, waiting air.

“Byleth.”

“Only Byleth?” He arches a brow at her nod. “Doesn’t concern me, I suppose. You may have the privilege to call me Adel.”

_Fifth Prince of the Empire. He is spirited and dedicated. He strives to be better even when he falls.-_ She recalls the verse going.

“The protests back then, why did you intervene?” She asks, making herself comfortable as the royal tosses his arms and loses his confident smile. His brows furrow, nails digging inside clenched fists once again as she looks away. “... Doesn’t matter. I won’t ask.”

His clear eyes widen, relief settling in them before hardening again, it is if he’s always on edge.

Byleth can’t read people as Bau does, but the day had clouded over their heads, and Adel was a spitting image of it, like he could perfectly blend in the grey, formless shapes.

She’s a mercenary, she doesn’t pry.

Instead, he steers the conversation elsewhere, particularly enthusiastic about the upcoming festival and the way the empire celebrated their holidays as he spends the next hour or so regaling Byleth with more than necessary information about the protocols of dressing to the way people should start their days in certain events.

For an almost military-like city, the thought of a holiday dedicated to lighting paper lamps and letting them downwards the canal when the winter solstice comes, marking an end of the year and letting all their past behind, it is romantic in a way, and Adel seems like the type of person to like those metaphors in the way he practically glowed explaining his yearly escapades to participate in such events.

It sounds like he is more fond of his people’s lives than that of a royal, it sounds feasible, she can’t imagine the restriction that a life carved with a strong blood could be allowed the much needed freedom she is so used to.

They’re sitting under a tree, of a small hill more isolated of the town centre and right next to a farm when he suddenly stops talking.

Byleth waits, nothing short of patience even though she has never been much for it, there is a strange keen familiarity she feels in the other, perhaps it is his intrinsic charisma. Byleth thinks about the last time she let herself swept by someone like that, and shakes those thoughts away.

“Tomorrow, my sister is five.” The wind picks up, over the distance she sees a flock of ducks taking flight, someone’s laundry flying off and a straw hat being swayed along and turning with the whims of the air currents. “It looks like it’ll rain.” His clear eyes turn upwards, white hair swaying gently, he sounds more like a doting, worried parent afraid of the passage of time than an elated sibling excited for the festivities to come.

Just as he says so, moments after rain hits the grass, people scurry off into buildings and laundry racks are emptied. Byleth listens to the rhythmic sound of water hitting the leaves of the trees before falling over her head, it is pleasantly cold.

“How can you tell?” She asks, genuinely curious.

“I always do.” Adel responds rather unhelpfully, though she is growing accustomed to his ambiguous answers, and doesn't probe further in risk of a royal punishment. “Tomorrow, my sister will turn five.” He repeats, tone carrying weight, it etches itself like a memory to be dug up in the future when the right time comes.

He leaves when the sun begins to set, a simple farewell offered with a hint of a smile that is less condescending than how they have started.

Byleth walks the unfamiliar streets until Bau stumbles into her. Though she is not worried, the assassin looks short of breath and she could smell the sweat of exertion on him as he tightens his grip on her shoulders, for some reason, he also hits her over her head.

“Leth! Don’t go off like that again! Do you know how much I was running around searching for you?”

She blinks, nursing the dull pain. “...”

“Man, I asked so many people that I eventually even managed to find where Cap should be heading next. And somehow, _none of them_ saw a short, dark-haired girl anywhere. It would be almost hilarious if I wasn’t so out of breath.”

“Jeralt?”

“You can’t just ignore everything I said before _and_ after that, Lethie.” Bau sighs, tousling her head then using it as a support to straighten his posture. Byleth continues to expectantly wait for an elaboration.

He slightly glares, but otherwise doesn't feel like scolding her much further for her timely escape.

“Merchant I was talking to had connections with Aegir, and pointed that some blacksmith in town might know better as he’s the one exporting the weapons. His shop is near the entrance- _Byleth_.”

Byleth doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence as she scampers off to the said location, a timeless aged face already marking its presence in her mind.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> More oc's are being introduced and I'm quite excited for them hehehe (*´∇｀*)
> 
> See you next time!


	8. They are cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two-headed eagle of the empire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, will try to update these consistently since in theory, I do have the cintent written until much later h (kicks myself)
> 
> Take care of yourself and I hope you enjoy! (*´∇｀*)

* * *

Byleth stares wide-eyed, unblinking at the flamberge of the store, more than a little starstruck.

It was made of a pristine metal she couldn’t tell of the origin, golden pattern like a wave running down the middle and a hilt emulating a thunder. She’s heard mouth-to-mouth whispers about it on the road, but it is rare enough for it to be a legend of some sorts among weapon dealers.

“Ah, a Levin Sword, aye.” Bau says, not really mirroring the internal wonder weaving inside her. “It’s pretty much impossible to get hands on it in Alliance or Faerghus without connections, but as you’d expect of a country strong for its militia and magic, it’s even among the shelf for common people like us to see.”

The blacksmith of the store huffs, bulky arms crossed around her chest as her wild, brown locks heave with pride. “Just so you brats know, even in these parts, good Levin Swords are pretty much a high-ranked rarity. May as well consider it your once in a lifetime experience.” The older woman cackles, her big bulk shaking and booming with mirth.

Byleth reaches a hand forward, stopping miserably short as a strong grip grabs on her wrist, impeding the approach. “I wouldn’t recommend it, Leth. It’s difficult for people without advanced magic affinity or resistance to even hold a weapon fabled in history books.” He says with an easy smile, almost as if he has experienced it firsthand.

She broods, shaking her wrist off to go take a look at the iron lances instead.

“Don’t touch those either, kid. They’re pointy things not meant to be touched by any children.” She snaps her head over to the woman at the counter, hand grabbing onto the dagger sheathed by her hip, as the blacksmith laughs loudly and the displayed knives close to the counter shake under the amplitude. “You’re so tiny, I couldn’t help to tease you.”

She reluctantly puts her dagger away, not liking her experience so far at the store.

“Anyways, how can I help you two mercenaries? Isn’t too often I see a pair like you.”

Bau heads over to the counter, Byleth stays close but not close enough for her lacking height to be completely felt among them. “Well, an acquaintance of mine told me you deal with the Aegir.” Her brown eyes harden, it’s a touchy subject judging by the instant drop of friendliness on her face.

“... I’d watch out for your next words, lad. It has been a sensitive topic, these past weeks.”

The assassin doesn’t falter, nodding along with an understanding smile. “Yes, don’t worry, we’re not here to interrogate you about your affiliations. Just...” He reaches for his pocket, taking an old, slightly rusted bracelet out of it.

The woman clearly recognizes it as her face grimaces, she’s holding Bau by his collar in the next moment, furious. The assassin is less than rattled, and consequently Byleth is also not worried much about the sudden development.

“... I presume you know the owner of this?”

“ **What does a twerp like you have to do with Hal?** ” When her voice lowers down, to a harsh tone that commanded attention and subordination, Byleth notices the several scars littering the woman’s shapely arms, the unmistakable flag of the country hung on the wall, discolored and torn by the edges, just overhead a mannequin dressed in old armor that still glistened underneath its battle-woven scratches.

“Halcius was in the same mercenary group as us. You may be familiar with Jeralt Reus Eisner?”

She growls. “I don’t believe you.”

“He is my father.”

A tense moment passes when the woman’s brown eyes shift to hers, and they’re blazing, unblinking mahogany the way she stared. There are scars still fading peaking from underneath her collar, decades of experience in the way she gauges Byleth with a single glance. Byleth can’t read people like Bau does, but her instincts tell her to _never dare_ to look away from the woman.

Silence.

“... It seems, you are aware enough to not move.” She hears the crash of a metal on the ground. Next to her neck, a halberd falls, its presence completely unnoticed until then. “Should you have bulged, you would have been bleeding from your lie. Be glad that you claim to be who you are.” She says, a connotation different from how she used to talk, it’s not foreign, Byleth feels like she is meeting a red-haired knight and her wyvern all over again.

“Byleth, you alright?” Bau asks as she touches the ghost of the halberd’s tip by her nape, she releases a shuddering breath as the woman retreats to the back of her store, nodding finally, and following after.

.

It’s a dark room, smelling of soot and dampened hot metal.

They’re seated around the blacksmith’s work table, the wafting smell of cigarette as they wait anxiously for the next conversation to start. In the meantime, Byleth scans over the scattered papers detailing a weapon’s internal constitution with a curious eye. It’s messy handwriting accompanied with sketches of pinpoint accurate representations. There are pointers made of different markers at separate times, some other neater handwritings and crumpled bits of paper from water falling accidentally on it.

“So, what brings you two to imperial lands?” She asks again, taking a drag.

“A last request from Halcius.” Bau responds.

The woman breathes in sharply, the tip of her cigarette growing as her eyes closed. A minute or two pass, they wait in bated silence.

“So it’s true... that he has died.” She lowers her head, sighing deeply. “Old fucker... Told him to not trust those Aegir hounds.”

She extinguishes her cigarette on the table, Byleth smells her close breath as she leans forward, eyes slightly wet in a moment of grief before it too, passes.

“He died protecting one of us.” Bau explains, an even voice carried solemnly across the space between them three.

“Is that so... He was always a softie behind his stoic face.” She laughs, booming voice that brought more relief than annoyance, her smile is white next time she looks at them. “Tell me then, what is it that you need to know?”

Bau and her look at each other, the assassin in particular looked eager to push on. “Halcius’s last request. He told us to go to Enbarr, but nothing more than that.”

A fleeting shadow crosses her face. “And you lot followed it all the way here? Not much of what you’d expect from a loose-tied group, aye.”

They nod. “Halcius was anindispensable presence for our group. We volunteered for this, we’ll see it to the very end.”

Byleth feels, the same testing gaze the blacksmith did earlier with her. Bau doesn’t falter, he doesn’t flinch back when the woman turns big, intimidating and less of a civilian but a hardened warrior in the blink of an eye. There are no hidden weapons, no voiced threats, but it is as if Byleth could see a rope latching around their throats, a noose that will tighten from any miscalculated movement.

“... The second prince.”

They blink unanimously. What had a humble mercenary like Halcius have to do with an official heir to the throne?

The blacksmith catches their confusion, cementing their thoughts with a well-placed nod of confirmation. “Halcius was temporarily one of the combat instructors when the second prince was young.”

“Wait wait. Halcius was _just_ an instructor for the possible heir to the imperial throne? There’s something I’m missing.”

The woman blinks at them, amusement flickering in her face as she snickered. “The old guy didn’t tell you? Him and I were old comrades of war serving the country. We were decorated knights at the peak of our careers.”

Stunned incredulity flows between them. The two mercenaries owlishly stare at the blacksmith with something slightly more of a resignation. If they knew her any better, they would then have said that the raise of her brow was in fact, mischievous amusement.

“He was always fond of the second prince. They were close as grandfather and grandson. Then, Minister Vestra- _well,_ Prime Minister now- came into the picture, and all trusted knights serving His Majesty were dismissed on the same day. Me included.” She leans back on her seat, old spite growing in her expression, it wasn’t a peaceful conclusion she imagined. “Halcius always wanted to meet the second prince again, and help him if he ever needed it. Now that he’s dead, that task falls onto you.”

“... He wants us to check up on a royal?”

The other sighs. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to. But if you choose to pursue, then I know a way into the palace using my old contacts. Someone is surely willing to help out. Still-“

She stops talking, fear rushing in like a night howl of an unseen beast. Byleth doesn’t know fear as well as the others do, but the magnitude it reaches the blacksmith and turns it into an apprehension that gnaws at her insides like a claw gouging her guts, _the empire_ , she thinks. It’s all she ever thinks of.

“There have been rumors circulating the town. Unsavory talks.”

“Rumors?” Bau follows, his breath falling short as his composure too, falters.

When the woman’s brown eyes turn to theirs, they are wide, inexplicably worried. “That a curse has fallen the sun of our empire.”

.

“A hot mess we threw ourselves into, huh, Leth?”

The festival clamors outside and on top of the tunnel they were led into. It’s frigid cold, damp and dark, a stark contrast to the world just feet apart and separated by a wall made of stones and earth.

The dancing of the folks echo in the space they’re in like minute small earthquakes shaking the place, their joyous voices travel and blur and they’re whispers that don’t exactly sound like laughter in her head, but still preferable to the tense silence that would otherwise permeate over them.

“How come we never have a moment of rest? It’s almost

as if _we_ are the ones cursed.” The blacksmith, Mira, snorts as she holds a torch to light the way ahead. She cuts an intimidating large figure within the shadows, the orange glow that generously accentuates her taut muscles and incredible brown mane reaching down her back in soft waves.

Bau shrieks when he sees a rat, one of his peeves following an unfortunate childhood incident, he hides and attempts to obscure his presence behind her small frame.

She imagines it would make a good picture to talk about in times of more leisure, more precisely following these events and when they reunite with her father once again.

When they reach the end of the tunnel, to the evening wind that is warmer and an air less foul-smelling than the space beneath, a large palace towers them with its mountain size. Byleth hears the clamor of the people behind, a fair distance away, but still loud enough to even reach where she is behind the large gates that protect the ruling family from any outsiders. She couldn’t help but notice the lack of lighting that flickers through its numerous curved windows, the way that it is dead silent with no guards on sight- as if it was completely inhabited.

“This is as far as I’ll go with you.” Mira’s tone is somewhat regretful and solemn, and Byleth only turns away from her scrutiny when her heavy steps approach her.

Her brown eyes are dark and obscured underneath her bangs and the cloak she wears, Mira looks down at her, and the mercenary thinks about her characteristic booming voice that she hasn’t heard ever since they stepped out of her store.

“... Tell me, what has become of the lad that Halcius helped?” She asks finally, though Byleth suspected it wasn’t what she had in mind in the first place.

“They are where their master is.” After a beat passes, the ghost of a smile adorns the blacksmith’s battle-grazed face, her tan skin glows when the first firework ascends to the sky, and Byleth hears her even when the loud crack of explosive colors startle her ears.

“Then, take this with you.” She stares at the intricate sword in her hands, wide-eyed and more than a little eager as she reaches her hand forward.

Bau’s words echo in her mind, that it could repel anyone who is not worthy of it, but its metal glistens a myriad of pristine colors that do not bend or crack proving its disuse, she bites the inside of her mouth and grasps firmly the hilt of the unsheathed sword, hanging only by her hip with a sturdy strap.

Her rough hand tousles Byleth’s head in a fondness that suddenly stemmed from the woman. She locks gazes with her, then with Bau, long enough for its memory to get imprinted in her mind. “I trust that you will prevail safely.”

.

Byleth and Bau walk down the halls with an almost eerie ease.

There is no soul to be seen, no maids finishing their evening tasks or guards patrolling the place. For a place so big, she thought it understandable, but for a place where the royals lived, it left her scratching her head at the lack of sneaking and hiding required.

“I suppose we have Mira to thank for that.” Bau reasons, his cautiously lowered voice still being carried out in this empty place. “I shudder to think what ‘contacts’ she may have been talking about.”

Byleth’s guts stir with discomfort. On top of the bizarre conditions, the palace is slowly, but surely suffocating her with its dark, long and void hallways.

In contrast to the Goneril’s estate where their hallways were sparsely decorated but well lit during the day and afternoon with the connecting windows that went up to the ceiling, the Arestian palace has numerous decorations that would have surely leave none ambiguous about the state of their wealth. It’s large portraits hung where their height couldn’t reach, beneath decorative weapons too heavily adorned with jewels to be a feasible utility in actual combat. Tapestries carefully laid, of intricate patterns not unlike those she’s seen when she was in Aegir lands.

Full armors stand on either side of the place, axes raised in commanding positions, as some of them hold red flags of a two-headed eagle.

But even with the heavy decorations that would surely beguile many merchants and folks in their wealth, Byleth’s body weighs the longer they stay inside the place. It’s a soreness at the edge of her mind that nags, a thing moving but not visible, just dodging the perception of her eyes each time and it festers with trickling seconds.

She feels, the walls rising where the ceiling could not be seen, shadows moving underneath the furnitures, portraits breaking behind with groans and whines of their creators.

It’s an irrational thought that gnaws at her, but the fact that a Levin Sword now rests by her hip, all but cements that what is to come may need the help of a fabled weapon to be conquered.

“There’s someone in that room.” She quips in, Bau already looking at the pointed direction before she opened her mouth.

A tense second passes, the assassin purposefully puts himself at the front as he motions them closer.

On the floor they are, among the other five rooms they’ve come across, this is the first one that is occupied.

The doors creak slightly when they pry it open. Inside is similarly dark or even darker, the unmistakable scent of someone living inside comes, when Bau sees an abandoned stuffed bear on the floor, his confidence grows and pushes it open.

What they see, stills both of them.

A small figure stands upright at the center of the room, silky, long white hair glistens with the moon that peeks in from the opened window.

Her clear eyes are large and innocent when she looks at them, but no indication could be made about anything else. Byleth imagines what others have said previously, and wonders vaguely if this is what people have meant when they say she is ‘expressionless’.

She’s the first to move out of the two of them. She approaches the child warily, Bau somewhat still glued at the door, unable to move as she presses forward.

She looks back at the assassin, a haunted expression on his face and amber eyes that trembled at the sight with shadows of his past, she leaves him.

“... Are you... El’s friend? Dima?” Byleth does not recognize either of the names and is almost ashamed to be surprised to hear a perfectly normal voice from a perfectly normal child like the other. (But the white hair that resembles cobwebs of a spider more than it does of falling, winter snow bellows a different truth)

When she shakes her head, the child’s head dramatically falls. “Are you...” Byleth freezes, her spine chills. Her sword trembles at her side, held tightly by her hand as her body moves before her mind does. “... here to take me then?”

She jumps back, alarms pricking at her neck as the child begins screaming in angry anguish.

But still, Byleth refuses to back down, she eases her nerves with difficulty and steadies her shallow breathing.

Magic, of impossible quantities in a body so small, reverberates from the child’s body in seismic waves through the air. It renders it unbreathable, turns the sense of balance in her body like a magnet that has lost of its poles.

She grits her teeth until it becomes sore, the sword she holds in her hands quivers and she lets go of it as she exhales deeply.

Her eyes harden when she takes a step forward- the child’s mouth is open in a soundless scream, nails gripping in hair and makes visible the scars that have been hidden beneath it. Byleth sees fresh wounds re-opening, red liquid trickling down her pale skin and clear eyes turning red, _turning to her._

A strong arm pushes her back, Byleth doesn’t need to turn to see who it is before a blue glow condenses and engulfs the room in a incinerating cacophony.

Bau and Byleth stumble on the ground, the flames reach even outside and crack though the walls of the palace and brings noise and light to the barren hallways.

She’s blinded for a second, still seeing madness on a face so young before fire erupted like an explosion behind her frame.

“Byleth, we have to move!” Bau wills her on her feet, pointing at several figures that were running closer from behind. Byleth holds her ringing ears, but she lets the hand carry her away.

The palace rumbles, finally awake from its quiet sleep. People run to look for them, distressed, robe cladded dark mages enchant spells that they’re clueless about, still, they don’t find them.

Bau and Byleth are hiding behind the very armors of another hallway, another floor, leading to a single door at the end where the body of a corpse laid next from when they had the misfortune to spot them in their escape.

Bau’s shaken, a big hand runs down his face as he breathes in deep. She hears a muttered sentence, unrecognizable language, an amber eye that promises retribution of a cause far deeper than that of returning a debt to a fallen mercenary.

“A curse, they said.” He whispers, dry laugh following as he gets on his feet.

He hands her his steel sword in replacement of the one she lost earlier, unsheathing the long, curved one that she last saw him use when confronting Ivan. The way he does it, leaves no room for Byleth to even question or doubt. “Let’s go find this second prince.”

The room at the end of the corridor they were in, is empty. They drag the body of the mage they have slain inside, in case any pursuer stumbles on it accidentally and tracks down their path.

It’s a bigger room than the last, but remarkably tidy and Byleth smells more the resin of the furniture than she does of other things. The bed is carefully made, dust accumulated over the small round table that served as a place to have tea she presumes, it is clear that no one has been living inside for quite some time. It hasn’t been necessarily long since they’ve been gone.

While Bau searches the corpse of any clues that might help them, Byleth takes notice of a notebook abandoned by the desk, used and old.

The pages are blank, but a trained eye in disguises makes a small flame flicker at the tip of her finger as she holds it beneath each page.

It’s a journal by the looks of it, and judging by the unscripted name at the top left corner of the current... the first princess Ludmilla von Hresvelg, who has passed a few months ago in a hunting accident.

From what she reads, it is apparent that her death had been no mere accident. The first princess is a knight trained since she showed the prowess on the lance and dedication for training that was unparalleled even among boys of her age, she’s stern but devoted to her siblings, as she judges from the many activities she writes about doing with her many brothers and sisters and the numerous regimens she jostles down.

Accident or not, to be able to cover up a princess’s death under the emperor’s nose is a deal far greater than the actual deed preceding it, only aristocrat nobles would be able of such underhanded thing, she immediately thinks of the lanky noble they failed to fell alongside Duke Aegir.

She closes the journal, the last passage being of her bemoaning about the day of her sister El’s parting, a few stains that she thinks might be more than water stains on paper blurring the last words of the unfinished journal.

“You ready?” Bau asks over the other end of the room, arms crossed and leaning over a wall, waiting seemingly in a time where time was a precious wasting resource, she nods, making her way towards the assassin.

.

The second person they come across, it’s easy to locate them. They’re guarded by several mages stationed outside, all similarly cladded in black as their hands are put up in ready positions to end any enemy.

It’s not an easy battle, but Bau leads the fight with a speed and superior strength that make their enemies quiver, and where he couldn’t see, Byleth covers with a Fire or well-aimed thrust of her sword on the unsuspecting foe.

The royal they meet next, is agreeably smiling when they open the doors to their quarters. Although she and Bau are similarly drenched in blood from waist down and their steps leave crimson shapes onto the carpet, they do not falter, and welcomes them as the door behind them closes.

The fourth prince she recognizes, is sitting on a wheelchair that acts as his legs, he’s dainty and sizable fitting of someone his age, and his white hair almost looks blond under the candle that he holds with a hand.

His smile is kind, but that is just what it is. There is no fear, no expectation or anger.

“Are you looking for El?”

She shakes her head a second time at the mentioned name, the latter becoming increasingly suspicious as its presence grows with each place they go in.

“We’re looking for the second prince.”

The other blinks. “Ah... Lucas?” He points upwards, a golden bird materializing from his hands and phasing through the ceiling. “He’s about two floors above, I’m afraid. You will know when you reach it.” He says, mysteriously bemused.

They nod, turning over to leave before Bau glances back. The prince’s clear eyes are soft, his expression relaxed. “You... don’t want to leave?”

He blinks, smile loosening into something more genuine as he points to his legs, then over his head to an empty space where nothing was when Bau protested.

Byleth sees a shadowy horned figure stretching its hairy big arms in the drawn curtains, but that might have been a trick of light made from the flickering candle.

“I wish to spend the remaining of my time with my family.” He says with finality, and they leave.

A floor above, Byleth wrenches out her sword from a mage’s chest, seeing it rise and fall and bulging even if the person is effectively dead.

When she turns to Bau, and he’s surrounded by similar corpses and he cuts a clear figure in the shimmering haze that permeates the whole palace like disconnected threads from one place in another dimension entirely, her skin crawls, and her jaw tightens.

Images flash, and the prince they just met is standing on his feet, inside a dark space, and conversing with something that was not there. Her eyes turn upwards, where chandeliers she imagines falling and squashing her beneath with their weight, their distorted reflections, how does this carnage look inside the warped lenses.

And Bau flashes amber, a groan sounding out behind her as a creeping assassin falls, and the hand that grabs her shoulder she watches it tremble and stained with the blood that the fatal wound causes.

.

_“A companion lives inside the most precious place of the palace. It is big and horned, but do not be scared children, as it has served the imperial family for many generations and acts as protector of our lands. Do not be scared children, for its big mouth spews good crops and rain for the year, and its scaled skin is but Goddess’s very touch of love.”_

A beast lives inside the palace.

As the bard’s strums of lyre fade from her mind, Byleth stares unwittingly perturbed and morbid curiosity crawls at her skin. She and Bau traverse an empty hollow space that is shaped ovally and large enough to fit an entire street. They stumble in it after a hidden door behind a curtain leads them somewhere using imbedded warping magic. It is an accident, a coincidental mishap that has them stumbling onto a secret personified.

A creature the size of a tower, chains holding its clawed limbs at place, it has the body of a lynx, but its head is shaped like a deformed boar with as many eyes as a spider that blink erratically without a sign of conscience, it’s _green_. It has a tail curled around its body and Byleth is reminded of dogs napping on the sunshine or darting across a field doing what a domesticated pet should do. The thought of domesticating a creature this size evokes more fear in her than she’s able to express, she knew the empire’s corruption first-hand, and the implications of what the royals’ pale delicate features meant, the state of unrest of the outwardly peaceful palace but-

The beast exhales loudly, Byleth freezes, feels the air sucking out of her body and refusing any entry as she goes quiet.

When they finally traverse the whole space, a game of silence that seemed to begin with their disadvantage no matter how familiar she is with it, she is left unsure, at loss, and begins to give reason to Ivan’s confidence that they would not be able to follow his trail.

“The two-headed eagle hides terrible things.” Bau whispers, a nervous, crooked smile on his sweat-dripping face and eyes lost half into euphoric exhaustion. “I have always thought it meant that their strength and greedy sights were twice as grand and powerful as of an apex predator, but maybe I have misunderstood.” He turns pensive, his shoulders tighten at a mage who passes and walks down the path opposite with a ghostly presence, not once has Byleth ever seen a face beneath those covers, not once has it felt she was fighting people in the whole duration inside the palace. “Perhaps it’s a simpler nature, not as grand. Perhaps it’s just the simple case that one head hunts, and the other hides the prey caught.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you feel like to (or not, but please, pleading face)


	9. When the thunder rains down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is a well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovelies who have stayed this far (yes, you)  
> Genuinely, I think this was the point where I really went into deep with where this story was going, like I had all the ideas and stuff I wanted to write, it was bless.

* * *

  
A little golden bird flaps its semi-transparent, snowflake patterned wings and leads them down a red-carpeted corridor, unlit torches by the walls.

It doesn’t chirp, it’s a magic awfully natural and real. Byleth can conjure flaming bodies of malformed horses that jump with four limbs at a time, their movements rehearsed and clumsy; not a bird that is like any other, and it glows like a small sun inside that dim castle.

When it touches the mahogany doors of their destination, it scatters into golden dust that fall by their feet and disappear without trace.

Byleth pries the door open despite Bau coming forward first, she expects a dark room and clear eyes staring at her soul, white hair that is dusty and merging into the dim moonlight that partially shines on it; perhaps even some sort of tentative conversation about the how/what/whereabouts of a sibling named ‘El’.

The room is spacious, as they all are, it fits a family of their status and it has enough individuality in it for Byleth to discern interests of its occupant. Used riding boots by the corner, stacks of well-known novels and a rapier abandoned on table.

A small candle is left on the ground in the middle of the place, it flickers when she pushes the door open, and the towering shadow of the prince is but the identity of a hunched boy by the corner of the room.

He grips his head, back turned at them and she can see the bones of his spine sticking from the thin, silky shirt he wears. He’s got untamed white curls, a broad shoulder and a thin waist, they approach with more ease than they first began with.

The prince mutters, bags underneath his eyes and he doesn’t move even when they’re close enough to tower him. He’s more than a little nervous and Bau’s impatience grows the more he stares, as if a part of him hurts, he grabs onto the royal’s shoulder and turns.

Silver blinks inside the room. The prince pulls and thrusts the offending knife inside Bau’s arm, the assassin retreats, presses at the wound and blood that trickles is green.

He and Byleth share a gaze, and the second prince cackles when the assassin staggers, falling to his knees and then his head is in front of her feet, his blood staining the carpet in darker red.

Byleth blinks, hinged but no blood pools at her feet, no cackling that fills in the room and her hand catches Bau’s in a strong grip as he attempted to stir the prince away from his musings.

Her breaths are shallow, tired waves washing over her but she shakes her head, violet eyes blazing in reproach.

The space shifts, all converges and stretches but them. They’re back inside the interminable hollow space, and the prince that Bau was about to touch... the slumbering beast’s scales.

She breathes in deeply, finding her balance anew as she stares at the blinking eyes of its head but none of them were conscious. She and Bau step back, slowly, slow-

“You have seen through my spell.” A disdainful voice cuts into the tension.

They whip their heads around, a movement so fast and accusatory that the culprit merely deigns himself in snorting and shaking his hand, a decidedly dramatic flair to his movements. “Brother doesn’t wake up unless he’s told to. Relax, and tell me exactly how you broke through my spell.”

Two things she wanted to question immediately, but Bau breaks their silence first with an incredulous tone. “Brother? This mons-“ He’s propelled away, airborne before crashing onto the ground and tumbling backwards until he stops at a far side of the place.

“You will watch your tongue, intruder. And you-“ Clear eyes turn to her, they’re narrowed and offended, but contrary to what she has been experiencing inside the palace, weird royals and suicidal apathetic faceless robes, the enmity is a sight quite welcoming. “Put your sword down, girl.”

She blinks, he couldn’t be much older than she, though she does as said, soundless but a bit reluctant.

“Who are you-“

“Speak to me with a knee on the ground, girl. State yours first, and I’ll see if you’re qualified to hear mine.” If anything, his standoffish demeanor already made Byleth have a somewhat accurate guess on his identity.

Before Byleth could drop to her knee though, Bau barrels in with a loud anger that is starkly different from the forced quiet he was trying to convey. There is a large red bruise by the side of his face from when he rolled on the ground, he is angry, but not repulsed, Byleth decides.

“You brat-“ He flies across the other direction now, his figure all but turning a blur as he’s flung away.

The other regards her unapologetically, head leveled up and untamed locks of white falling across his shoulders; she likes him, standoffish arrogance and all.

“Byleth... Unheard of.” A small curious smile stretches on his face as he caresses it with a hand, sharp clear eyes narrowing as his posture straightens. The red cape he wears flutters, the frills of the shirt he wears bounce and his golden-laced leather booths step loudly and echo through the space.

She braves a second glance behind, and the beast is still soundly sleeping.

“I am Lucas Von Hresvelg, fourth eagle of the empire.” Bau’s nose scrunches in distaste, Byleth politely bows. “Intruders, trespassing imperial grounds without authorization deserves sentence; and coming to the quarters where the Emperor lives without much of an official invite? Absolutely, ostentatious.” Despite his harsh words, there’s an unmissable glint of elation flashing on his smug leer. He poises an arm across him with a sudden movement. “State your reasons, or face the axe!”

It’s everything very dramatic, she almost feels like she’s standing beneath a carpeted stairway staring up to a crown that glistens gold and a throne that elevates itself high, but Bau and Byleth blink at each other, sharing more than some mutual thoughts and point towards the royal.

The other blinks, smile lost from his face as he crosses his arms. “Very well. It seems that this concerns me. While it is almost touching the lengths you have gone to meet someone such as I, I cannot let you off the hook.” Byleth contains a sigh. Though he doesn’t want to admit it, he is very indubitably pleased with the state of affairs. “... I’ll have a talk with father, if nothing else. So, what did you need from me?”

He stretches his arms, eyes glowing gold. The space behind him shifts, there are chests falling from thin air and resounding heavily in the ground, jewels like rain on a Verdant Moon. Byleth has not heard of magic like this before, but more incredulous is the amount of ‘fabled’ Levin Swords that pour out too. The sword by her hip loses all of its splendor suddenly.

“I’ve got riches, weapons, lands to share. I’ll delegate anything you need, celebration of my first royal task.” He is flamboyant, lively and arrogant, but his intentions aren’t bad, they’re not hidden motives behind good actions, it’s hard to like him but it’s also hard to dislike. He points a red-painted nail at Byleth, pristine and well-cared, there isn’t an ounce of weapon-handling experience in his hands. “What is it you want from me?”

Bau mutely hands over Halcius’s bracelet, blankly explaining the reason of their visit with a deadpan tone. He isn’t good with this sort of people, she imagines as his face morphs dangerously close to an expression between a grimace and yawn.

“Hm! Halcius, you say! It has been long since I’ve last heard of his name!” A sharp gaze darts, leveling them with a wary expectation. “If the man himself isn’t in front of me right now, either he has lost the privilege of his strength, either he’s unreachable. Which is it?”

“He’s dead.” Byleth responds not a second later. The prince’s expression falters, it is his proud and haughtily royal façade sagging with weight, a mouth that enjoys making itself heard closes, and the slightest of tremors that reverberate his red cape.

“And you came here to deliver me the news of his death?” He asks, his tone betrays the even face he puts on. His sigh implicates a resigned disdain to the delivery of the news, as if he has been on the end of it before.

“We are here, on his behalf, to make sure you’re alright.”

The prince flinches, he stares at them incredulously with an open expression, and then reels back with the force of his laughter. It does not sound like the brusque tavern noise Byleth is used to hear, or the light teasing banter that Bau often does to people. A sound that pierces her skin and makes her uncomfortable, a haze of emotions that waft through her, and she doesn’t know the cause.

When he stops, he has a more peaceful expression, and his smile is slight but genuine. “Oh Halcius, never the most punctual then and now.” His gaze bores at them, particularly on Byleth. “Very well, then I’ll delegate you a task to carry.”

She nods almost too quickly for her own character, and Bau’s sharp eyes doesn’t miss the unusual movement. Prince Lucas seemed in contrast, pleased with her response.

“The youngest princess, Flora, the fifth prince, Adel, and my dear sister, El. These three you must take from the palace at all costs, that is your task.”

Byleth’s mind nags at her, but before her or Bau could raise any question to the prince, he turns his head upwards, face losing color.

“... It would be wise for you two to move on. The mercenary group fighting ‘them’ in the palace’s underground, they’ve fallen.” Her eyes widen, she sees Jeralt fallen to the ground, blood draining the orange folds of his tunic and buried under corpses of unnamed faces.

She blinks, breath falling short.

“Wait what-How do you know that?” Bau asks, an edge of anxious suspicion to his tone.

“Eyes and ears do not work the same way for you, than for me. You must go. Now.” The earth rumbles, and cracks on the pillars begin to appear.

An instinctive prick nags at the back of her head, and when her eyes slide to Bau, past him and to the slumbering beast, she sees eight glowing green eyes owlishly gazing them.

Four thoughts skim though her mind. Jeralt, the beast, who is El and how did the prince know; but when she looks back at the royal, he is sad and his shoulders are sagged, no flamboyant standoffish remnant of his early demeanor in him.

“Come, with us.” She says, throat going dry as she pulls back from Bau’s hold on her wrist and pushing her towards the space’s exit.

Though he refuses to meet her gaze for long precious seconds where the beast has had the time to break one of his constraints, Byleth still waits, and another scene flashes in her mind.

A dragon, green-haired strands, and a golden lake with transparent water.

“I am- with my Brother.”

The beast roars.

Bau yanks her, holding her as he runs and Byleth’s head hurts, she tries to look at the beast, feeling nauseous. Its scales are putrid and grey, it snaps back its jaw and rows of painted teeth she can see from the distance, phantoms of corpses in between their crevices.

When it darts forward towards them- not hunched like a boar or awkwardly running like a primate, but uptight, as tall as the ceiling and it runs with the mind of a person- she rears back, averting her gaze and buries the image in her head as she sees clear eyes looking at her last, and she drowns her ears at the rhythm of the assassin’s heartbeat.

.

The palace rumbles.

It’s as if it is alive.

The hallways converge, they’re twisted and voices echo through the place like hunger from the stomach of a beast.

Bau and Byleth run like mad fools navigating through a maze without map, needles prick behind their nape, years of surviving battles honing her sense of danger, something is happening or will happen, and they do not want to be present for it.

Byleth thinks it’s her mind playing tricks with the shadows, convinces herself that the flickering shadows are branches of tall trees carried by the wind even though it’s a windowless place. She thinks the sounds are people of the palace in a state of confusion rather than the disgruntled, wet, mirthful sounds of pain that seemed euphoric to be heard.

“Ah, this is madness.” Bau grunts out, a wry smile but she suspects it’s anything but. His complexion is pale, haggardly absent even if she’s right next to him. He’s short of breath, the saber he wears around his belt glistens when they pass below the dim candles lighting their way, it thuds dully, erratically against his hip and is precariously unsheathed, already cutting a small ligament of cloth across a section of his pants.

A sheen of sweat nervously sticks to his skin, a semi-permanent frown creased that Byleth had not seen relax ever since they came into imperial lands. It’s a familiar anxiety, one that has stretched long and languidly for it to be felt prominently hindering their states of mind. Byleth could hear the remnants of the thumping rhythm of Bau’s heartbeat like a hammer tampering down hazardously everything it touched, it was-

“Byleth?”

They abruptly halt, Bau’s arm blocks Byleth’s way of further steps though she pushes it away as she approaches the figure cladded in cloak, but definitely recognizable.

Adel’s face is almost relieving to see in the drawl of madness spreading inside the palace. Though the royal seems less than pleased to see her in his home, with the way he averts his gaze.

“Who’s he?”

“Adel.” She responds, both as an answer and call. The other stiffens, he turns away, no trace of their familiarity present.

“The fifth prince?”

“Adel.” Clear gaze set into a grimace, Byleth’s hand reaches and stops, apprehension palpable from the prince. “...Your brother, Lucas, he asked us to get you.”

The prince grabs his own arm into a tight grip, they hear him breathe in deep, castle walls and cloak obscuring his regal appearance, but even then his white hair was starkly felt among the place.

He shudders, lips thinning in torment, though Byleth doesn’t know why, but Byleth knows they’re out of time, she feels the needle digging itself deeper underneath her skin, Bau’s nervous fidgeting of his pocket whenever he feels uncomfortable.

Finally, the prince looks up to them, tears sheen the corners of his sharp, clear eyes that soften and meld into crystals that were supple to touch.

Pretty, she thinks, not for the first time.

“Okay” He nods, releasing the tension in her body. “okay, what else did he say?” He’s not fully convinced, if the aching frown and downwards pointing mouth were of any indication.

“He told us to get your sisters. Flora and El.” Bau’s grip tightens, and soon after Byleth hears distant presences closing in.

“I’ll get Flora.” The prince responds with immediacy. “El, she, is on the upper floor. She’s... sleeping.” A lie, Byleth deduces, but worrying about what a young princess could be doing past her bedtime was far from being what should be on her mind.

The prince disappears with a whisk of magic that comes and smells of fresh air and wind that should not be possible inside the desolate palace, the red carpet they’re standing on flutters with his exit, and with it the cue for them to hurry on.

.

Byleth is rarely chastised.

She thinks it isn’t because she’s less prone on committing mistakes than any other person of her age or that her father is more lenient on wrongdoings that he finds and lets them be like a coddling parent, or that he simply does not care enough to see, correct and punish. Her father is stony-faced, less words than Bau and when there is talk it’s always something correlated to how to survive the world outside, but he’s an adult who can raise his own child, and he shows it easily even if he doesn’t use words and Byleth never felt bothered when naïve village children would come up to her with curious blue gazes and ask why did she not have a mother.

Byleth doesn’t have a mother, she has Jeralt to fill for the role as parent, as simple as that.

But then there’s this time, when her height freshly stood up to beyond his waist and her arms carry more strength to them than before. Her mind clicks, putting separate pictures together into a single frame and she’s gained a sense for the sword, for tactics and everyone’s considering praises let her know that it is not common.

For a child born into this life, surrounded always by someone of better caliber when it comes to experience or strength, and for a mercenary those two aptitude’s always mattered the most. Suddenly, Byleth was not daughter of the captain anymore, not someone to check on during battles, and she’s more than a little proud of it, admittedly.

It was only a matter of time before her timely ‘spars’ with the village folks would get her into trouble, so eager she had been in proving her might to the world.

She recalls the boy like she recalls anyone else. Lean with no muscle, legs fitter than his arms, a face free from bruises or dirt, brown eyes that were narrowed in a confidence not his own and prim, proper, tailored hair that bellowed a higher status than those she is used to fight.

He grips the wooden sword in his hand articulate and precise, his brows a bit furrowed as he feels its thickness and in that moment Byleth knows he’s more used handling a lighter, sharper weapon like a rapier rather than the crude imitation they’ve made out of wood.

Other children gather around to cheer for the boy, anxiously waiting the defeat of the one who defeated them as they pump the very fists she’s beaten purple into the air.

It is easy to pounce the boy to the ground with a feint and work with the dirt to hinder his vision, his sword falls to the ground, and he gathers his fists to his eyes, knees on the ground, every sign of defeat imminent though it didn’t seem everyone was on the same mind as her.

The people gathered begin to insult, they call her methods dirty even if it wasn’t a concept that she has learned from her life. The insults escalate the more the boy she just beat cries, halfway through the event Byleth realizes the noble status that he carries not only in his name but also for the people in the village. An idol of some sorts around these parts, and a mistake to have to defeat in the eyes of his followers.

Words turn into rocks, and a respectable circle separating spectators from the people fighting closes unevenly, until she can her their breaths on her back and feet pushing on her hinder legs.

When she falls to the ground, blood seeping from a stone thrown to her temple that momentarily knocked her balance out, the murky chasm inside her boils. The fog evaporates, leaving a hot and uncomfortable place where the smell of a swamp took over instantly. It’s overwhelming, and the jeers of the children are sharp bladed bubbles jumping onto her skin and scorching it off.

Next thing she knows, a hand-shaped heat throbs on her cheeks, Jeralt’s rare taut lines pronounced on his face and his mouth pulled downwards towards her.

He drags her away, passing by the crying children hiding in their mothers’ consoling embrace as the latter glare at Byleth for hurting their blood and flesh, and she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand why do they look at her that way when they were the ones who’ve instigated it; she doesn’t understand why they’re whimpering on the ground, eyes averting hers when they were crowding into her space with the burning gazes not long ago.

Jeralt pushes her in front of a well, he presses her head down to look at the dark hole and the echoing sound of rippling water beneath. She looks at it, the place where the stone hit throbbing and a small trail of blood scurries down her face slowly, but never quite manages to drip from it.

“You are a well.” He says, flat tone set in harshness, his large fingers tightening their hold around her head. “You don’t see the bottom, we feed in water but it never overflows. But sometimes you can feel it, water reaching unchartered heights, slowly and then you begin to feel it, you begin to feel it rise.” Byleth stares into the dark, stony walls that make the well until it too disappears into the obscurity of the bottom, the way her father’s voice reverberates in a repeating and reprimanding tone, and she realizes that ah, he’s angry.

“You are a well.” He repeats, his words heavy and something close to shame stops the stubborn defiance of her pushing, she grits her teeth, an empty void in her chest that felt unnatural. “You don’t see the bottom, and you never, ever, want to know it.” He wills her face to him, rough hands gripping either side of her cheeks as he wipes away at the blood and the lines on his age soften.

She feels it.

The cool, rippling liquid rising and touching the walls of her mind, unseen and unwelcome.

She feels it.

It stirs, like water not meant to be contained.

She remembers it, the hole that is her person, and the brown whimpering eyes she sees in them, pairs of them blinking and fleeing from one shadow to another, but instead of village children staring at her through the crevices of their mothers’ hold, faceless people surround her, and their eyes are black, dancing where she couldn’t see and eluding her reason.

Byleth blinks, mind slow as the group of mages pull out their gloved hands until she recognizes the chants that they carefully weave. She looks down, at the disgruntled grimace marring Bau’s face and her father’s reprimanding voice disappears, and so does the last remnants of numbness in her body.

Her hands are wet, thick blood dripping through the fingers as she presses on an open, burnt wound on the assassin’s chest that sticks to her palms like glue trying to put flesh back together.

She coughs, throbbing pain around her ribs and she counts, two, perhaps four bones broken, deterring better maneuvering.

Byleth swallows, knot furled around her throat, shallow breathing falling short each time as she thinks dimly about a way of escape.

She tries to will out from a vision, it doesn’t work apart from a headache settling in as she searches meaninglessly inside her head.

She wonders vaguely if she could talk it out of the predicament, but given past experiences and her own inability to properly communicate (not that the masked mages appeared the most approachable either), she perishes the thought.

“Run” Bau mutters, the dark, purple color of their magic casting a mystifying light to his pained face. “Run”

Byleth releases a shudder when the assassin closes his eyes, the foggy veil of tumbling unnamed feelings, gone.

“You should have not come, Byleth.” Green eyes emerge from the crowd, white hair sticking to him instead of the golden color of the sun. His face is familiar, and his tone even more so. It’s personal, carries an edge of memories in of time spent together that the other couldn’t have left behind just yet. When she meets his gaze, it wavers into a shimmering pool of uncertainty, a hesitation reaching out even if the spells of death grow ever closer to her chest, but Byleth does like she would do to anyone. She doesn’t let them close, striking violet eyes boring, and nothing more.

Ivan’s hand falls, disappointment marring in his crooked smile, and the magic peaks its completion.

Byleth, dimly, thinks about running away. She tries to feel for the other’s rise and fall of the chest instead of the characteristic heartbeat to every living being, and when she finds none of it, grief doesn’t strike her like she had expected it to. In place, a burning desire to stay alive burns, an almost tantrum-ish furious march with her steps growing louder in front of deaf men, trying to subvert the fate that is just in front of her.

Because Ivan, she thinks, Bau and Ivan, vibrant and starkly complementary, people orbit around them two like hungry hyenas looking at a predator’s remains. And Byleth stands on either circle, always on its edge as she watches and observes the way they feast on the men’s decaying flesh, hungry and finding pleasure, all in the while unaware of the disease that spreads in their veins with a hold onto their only life.

But they were happy once before they’ve realized their mistakes, and it would take her a single step onwards to feel it too.

Bau and Ivan, she thinks, Halcius and Pam, Yuna and Yuei, Adel and his younger sister. Living, breathing, caring, saving.

An old scar shoots up from Byleth’s spine; a scarred skin older than she was, the thickness of what once was a finest blade, and it scorches, like memories imprinting themselves forcibly on her skin.

She once had someone too, someone else than Jeralt, a back broad and trusting, looking after her own.

And when it stabbed through her, a starless night atop of an open hill, tears streaming down their bloodied face and wrenching attractive eyes trembling in a complexity far behind of betrayal, the wound burns like an open portal, and the cape that flutters along her fall, wings that sprouted awkwardly from her injury.

They mutter some words, timeless tongue lost or never existed, but the last thing she sees is not a regretful apology or a fury went unseen, nor a bitter satisfaction or apathetic numb acceptance, but a promise.

Fire cackles. Not the shimmering heat pooling continuously on her fingers, but several pricks of exploding sparks that run through her veins.

And when she grabs onto the sword by her hip, recoiling from the surge of power that aims to usurp her own, and she melds it into her will, forcibly letting it eat away at her flames, let it fester and grow into a generous heap, before swallowing it all down in one single move.

The dark mages step back, purple magic of the death disappearing as it flows back to her like it was their rightful place.

“You left us” she says, tone flat but not void. The thunder splinters her skin, but it’s more of friendly village cat pawning affectionately than anything remotely dangerous. It lights up the dim throne room they’re in, and when she looks at Ivan, his hair is the golden color of wheat shining healthily underneath the sun, and not the absence of life that it actually is.

“I wish I didn’t have to.” He counters, out of breath and genuine.

“We are fine now. We’ll be alright, even without you.”

Thunder rains, blinding and absolute. It first touches Ivan who’s closest, traveling with a destructive, unbearably warm hold from his hand to the rest of his body, a crooked smile stretching along his cheeks as the rest of him disappears. He can’t find himself caring too much, truth to be told, victim of the Empire’s whims and hidden agenda, body already far too maneuvered to really call it his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned before, I decided to write this Byleth with two overlapping entities in her - sothis, who is still dormant, and the pervious king from a land unknown because I just thought it would be more interesting to explore it that way. Even though now, I’m not too sure how I’m gonna incorporate it later on h
> 
> Here is a summary for the latter half (after they split up with the fourth prince, Lucas) because I realize that it might have been too convoluted to understand everything that happened djdjjdj (bonks myself):
> 
> -Byleth and Bau run through the treacherous palace hallways and bump into Adel, who is visibly in discomfort  
> -Byleth recalls a time in her childhood where she hurt one of the villager kids too much, and Jeralt chastised her for it (well analogy)  
> -Coming back to the present, Byleth feels complicated, boiling emotions as Bau is hit by one of the dark mages’ spell (Miasma, specifically)  
> -They’re surrounded by enemies and Bau is critically injured, leaving Byleth in a turmoil of new feelings until a familiar face resurfaces from the crowd (Ivan, who has been an experiment subject since last time they’ve met - white hair)  
> -Byleth has a flashback of a memory from the fallen king’s last moments  
> -Using that as her resolve, she manages to unlock the potential of the Levin Sword and strikes her enemies down (including Ivan, who in his last moments has come to peace with his fate)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a word or two if you feel like it, I’d love to hear abt your thoughts or any questions you might have (or not, but actually begging you)


	10. Eagles of the empire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and the eagles of the empire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yello, really excited to finally reach the end of this arc (wooo)   
> Thank for everyone who stuck around and please let me know if you any thoughts or questions!!

* * *

The last princess is standing precariously at the edge of the balcony of her room, dressed in white from head to toe and shining strands running down her back, casting a lovely imagery unperturbed by the night.

The walls of the palace begin to crumble, she hears the distinctive sounds of rough men and women fighting their way out of the treacherously regal place, the relief is short-lived when the princess finally turns to her.

Clear eyes that are large and hopeful, but they have strength not in the same way the mercenaries had from taking lives as way of living, but that of a suffering jewel that has been passed from hand to hand, interminably cause and witness to the bloodbath ensued.

Byleth is honestly tired, depleted of energy and two seconds don’t pass when she doesn't think of the ashes that the sword by her hip left afterwards, and the sole, growing cold body of Bau who had always been a presence by her side until it was no more.

The princess tiptoes to her, soundless and graceful, bending her head to see her and she realizes the state of uncleanliness compared to the other and how she craved the comfortable release of cold spring water on her wounds or piping steamy water washing away all residues. When her white dress moves like curtains of the dawn’s breeze through the creaking window of a local inn, Byleth doesn’t think too much of it when she asks for her name and the princess answers ‘Helena’, finding it perfectly reasonable that ‘El’ could be just a close pet name shared among their siblings, with how often the princess was mentioned and asked about.

“Your brother Lucas hired me to get you.”

Helena hums, all dainty and scheming, like a flower aware of its splendor and a white peacock among others of blue and green, clear eyes glinting, calloused palms taking hers and Byleth stares more at the deformed skin and splintered nails than anything else.

_Pretty,_ she thinks, this time aloud and the princess cackles, honey dripping onto a berry as it’s squashed on the ground by a running boar, juices spilling for the ants to gather.

Byleth lets herself be led, through the corridors that the royal navigates easily like it were her own playground. She tells stories of her escapes with a voice lowered and somewhat guilty face that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but Byleth finds no malice in them, finding more interest in listening where she hid all the vanishing sweets from the kitchen, her being the culprit all along after all.

_Helena_ , she mouths, three syllables that were bright and serene and perfectly balanced with a vowel for each consonant, no repeating intonations, fair and not entirely unique, it’s nice.

Byleth is still thinking about the lack of trippy movements that she has to do to say the name unlike hers, how it rolls off naturally to be spoken by any person of any tongue, she’s still thinking about it even when they finally reunite with Adel, the youngest sister sleeping peacefully on his back.

They’re discussing something, voices escalating though she’s more interested in staring at the youngest royal. A small child, smaller than them, pale knuckles gripping her sibling’s shoulders in a soft but tight grip. Her hair is unruly, curly and long, falling along her back and color almost imperceptible under the cover of the night.

Suddenly, she’s overcome with sickness, lurching forward as she grips her throat to asphyxiate whatever illusion she was on, the Levin Sword tipped at her thigh, puncturing a small wound that still cackled with lightning as it helped her consciousness back.

She blinks, palace rumbling, crumbling and floor cracking anew as she rose up again, glaring into the clear eyes that have turned cold.

“You’re not El.” The sigh of confirmation that comes is less surprising than it should. Byleth realizes, should have sooner than later, that the El these siblings spoke of so often was someone incredibly close to all of them, a presence familiar and humble, rather than the rare flower of petals greedy for all colors, a jewel fought for in murder and blood.

The princess cries, loud and immature, losing all her precious grace as her scream tore through the room, the long silky hair making her even younger as it spreads around her like a protective cape.

Byleth grabs onto Adel, pushing him away as they run away from the place, his eyes glued to his older sibling with a resilience crumbling at the sight of his sister’s tears. “M-My sister, she might still be-“

Byleth looks at him, past his shoulders where the youngest slept and where Helena stood, bawling her sorrows out to an entity above, an incandescent light shining on her from the light that peeped in through the cracks.

She shakes her head. “Your brother told me to get El. That is my job.” She tells him finally, looking ahead again, noticing the healing bruises going around her barefooted ankles, realizing that she only saw porcelain skin where she wanted to see, unaware of the pointy thorns that were hiding if she came close enough to touch.

The palace crumbles, and cries of monsters echo in the diverging paths they pass.

Shilling sounds emotionless but the rage, the anger that festers an everlasting desire to destroy, until everything in its path is destroyed or it meets its end at the claws of another one, similar, stronger.

She breathes, sword taken out as her mind buzzes and her senses jump at any breeze that touches her face or any shadow that flickers with their passing.

“ _What did they do to you?”_ Adel averts his gaze, his mouth thins and there’s shame coupled with resignation, an anger justifiable and Byleth knows that whoever damned the family to hell, they were not the emperor.

“GHH” She groans, falling forward as she wills her left arm to not let her touch the ground. Pain blossoms on her back, a foreign object that sizzles in a heat that ruptures her tissues. Her vision is hazy when she looks back, betrayed clear eyes widened and at a loss, hands trembling as they had been holding an object just seconds ago.

Nausea whirls, and her vision splits, but Byleth pushes it down with a gnarling snarl, hunching forward as she takes out the offending dagger and lets it roll along the ground, bloodied and wet.

Her vision dims, and she feels a familiar jump coming, but even so she presses it down, Fire flaring in her fingers as she cauterized the wound, fist balled and teeth drawing blood on her lips.

She breathes in heavily, eyes closing for a moment of rest in the dark space she’s constructed between herself and the ground. Jeralt would have surely called her out for the vulnerability she shows in front of her enemy, but she was exhausted, depleted to her core.

A soft hand touches her head, warm and welcoming before it grips onto her hair and wills her head up.

She’s somewhere else, the large beast that she and Bau ran away from awake and blaring its jaws, Adel standing awkwardly in surprise a few feet to her right, hinged by the sudden change of location.

Lucas crouches comfortably on the creature’s head, heels digging into one of its many eyes though it seemed far more docile than she had previously thought.

His eyes are unkind, and he is angry.

“A terrible thing is inside of you.” He says, almost bored if not for the piercing scrutiny he lays on the left side of her chest. “Do you feel it?”

Byleth doesn’t respond, too tired to speak or perhaps she simply doesn’t have any idea of what he’s speaking.

“Of course you don’t, you don’t feel _anything_.” He snorts, painted nail digging into her flesh. “You don’t even need it.”

Blood sputters out, poison she deduces, acting from the dagger that he, _Lucas_ , wrenched through her back with his brother’s hands.

“I am envious, _Byleth_.”

“You’re just a coward.” She spits out, face lifting as she watches with a wet huff as the fluid hits him square on his front.

“B-Brother, no-“

“Quiet, Adel.” The beast beneath him heaves, mouth opening and she can feel its putrid breath against her legs as she’s lifted up to the air. Lucas draws a careful hand along her cheek, his face contorted in a blank anger that swirls in every curve and edge. “You think you’re better than me, you think you’ll just waltz out of here after angering so many of my brothers and sisters?”

He dangles her just on top of the beast’s mouth, and she realizes, staring at her own shadow curving inside the beast’s spiny tongue, hers only seen as if she were floating of her own will.

“You think you can call my brother a _monster_ , when how different you really are from him, Byleth?” The bottomless hole that leads to the beast’s guts are dark and unseen, it’s tight and just barely able to fit her person. She morbidly thinks about how many corpses laid underneath, decaying carcasses on top of others, covered in gastric acid smelling foul and expired flesh. She thinks about her own well, round and bottomless, and she covers her mouth as she gags at the thought. “I am a ghost, and I am more alive than you!” He cries out, grin stretching as he pulls them upwards.

Lucas cackles into her ear, letting the hold on her collar go as she reaches out for his arm, seeing his crazed mirth spreading in his face as her hand phases right through it.

Distantly, Adel cries and surges forward, late and defeated, as if he had been witness of far too similar events in the past.

_Ah,_ the beast’s mouth opens even more, just enough to swallow her whole, Lucas’s clear gaze intently watching it unfold, brimming with curiosity and fulfillment from a long, planned ploy finally coming to a conclusive end.

The two-headed eagle of the empire, Bau was wrong.

It is merely the facet of a naughty child and a reluctant one, entertaining those who are lucky enough to glimpse at it, hiding several other eaglets behind with their theatrics.

The ground splits, tipping the balance of the beast and of its mouth, consequently of Byleth’s course on the air as she collides by its scaly feet and rolls until she stops.

A hand grabs her and forcibly pulls her to her feet, but the brown-stoned tiles crack and parts of it surge and fall, she gets pushed away ass planting on the uneven surface as she blearily stares at Adel’s form, buried beneath debris.

She snaps back, rushing forward, using her sword to pull the debris away with a one-minded determination that surges despite the realization that they were played in the hands of the empire all along.

“I’m sorry, Byleth...” He says, wheezing and wet, his sister still sleeping underneath crumbling into ashes.

She harshly stabs the ground, pulling the last of her magic into it as it cracks through the weakened material, taking small satisfaction as she hears the prince wince as she pulls him up on his feet.

She looks back at the writhing beast, moaning at the loss of its meal and Lucas trying to appease it unsuccessfully.

The beast whimpers, jaws opening wide before biting onto where the prince stood, the latter groaning as his figure merely flickered before becoming one again.

“Not again, brother. I told you, you can’t eat me! Move your overweight arse out of here, Brother! Don’t you see that you will fall easily with your size and who will have to haul you out of the hole when it happens?! Me! And I don’t even have a physical form!” The other notices their presences, turning around to face them with an audible contemptuous snort before shooing them away with his hand. “You’ve been lucky this time, Byleth. Next time, I’ll have your heart! Consider yourself lucky I don’t have any energy to spare to wrench your head out of your neck.”

She blinks, out in the corridor where she was stabbed. She puts a hand over Adel’s mouth once she feels him fidget on her side, pushing him onto a wall and presses the side of her blade to his neck, tone even and flat. “Tenfold.” He nods, hot tears streaming down his face as he crumbles down to the ground.

“My brothers and sisters... they’ve lost their minds.” He rattles out finally. “Only I and Flora have remained in our conscience, and Brother Lucas he, he...”

Byleth sighs as she runs a tired hand down her face, gripping her jaw as she lets the exhaustion wash over for a moment before pulling herself together again. “And El?”

“El, she, he, _she is..._ ” Recognition fleets by him before it sizzles out, an external influence on his mind no doubt, perhaps it’s related to why his hair was white or why any other sibling they’ve encountered have been either dead, or confined to their room. “El, she is, my sister...” He breathes out, digging memories forgotten to convince himself. “I-I don’t know where she is. Only sister Ludmilla is dead, she couldn’t be also-?”

Byleth turns away as he looks at her, searching for an answer that she couldn’t possibly give. “Where is the youngest?” Adel’s frame relaxes at the mention of his sibling, deflating on the ground before his head darts left and right in an urgency that didn’t quite match hers. “Safe, she’s safe. But we, _we are not_. They’re angry, too many of them have died, your father is very strong. Someone will come, you have to _leave_.”

She narrows her eyes. “Why?”

“They’re terrible things, Byleth, even more than you.” She hits his head over his words. “They ruined my family, made my eldest brother a beast, forced Brother Lucas’s soul into his body when he died. They took Brother Alexander’s legs, made a doll out of Helena, put a fire spirit into my sister, took apart my body!” He clenches his garbs, taking off his cloak to reveal a mechanical arm gloved at the end. His eyes shoot up, trembling like a fawn born in a den of wolves, met with an untimely death before it even knew how to live. “El, I don’t remember how old she is, what if they did something to her? Flora is too young, but El, she, do you know how she looks like?”

She swallows, the cold intricate wires of his prosthetic limb clinging to her dirty shirt. She grabs onto either side of his face, wiping at his tears as she digs around her head for a vaguely familiar melody.

Absolutely maddening, Byleth, words constipated, singing to a broken prince.

_“... The seventh eagle of the empire, brimming with talent and a coldness misunderstood. She wields claws twice her size, fells her opponents with a boyish grin, and is full of warmth beneath her ice gaze. She is winter and spring, a flower blooming on a stony hill, and blood that is remembered and not slain. She is chestnuts flowering in autumn, eyes boring like the summer sun. Seventh eagle of the empire, she is.”_

Adel listens silently, absorbing the croaky melody and committing it into memory. His hands grab onto her hold, tension releasing in him as he nods, they stay rooted like that for several moments in passing.

“My father he, is worried. He loses his health each time one of us do, a bit of his broad back each time we return with a head full of white.” He laughs warmly at a memory. “They used to say I look a lot like him, that’s what they used to say.”

.

The paintings fall, and shelves made of glass shatter.

Adel leads Byleth away, and she puts a meager trust in him despite all that has transpired.

They look for El, the last sibling that no one remembers but exists, scouring the rooms in a haze as the entire place felled in them.

They go to Alexander, strapped still in his wheelchair and when he turns he’s less smiles and a soft posture, but a grimace set in pain, unfocused eyes and drool trailing out from a slack mouth.

When they ask the princess’s whereabouts, it takes Adel four more minutes of trying to get through his brother before a bird morphs from his magic, less majestic and golden, but dark, and bleak, wings clipped and diseased as it phases downwards.

They run, her legs crying and biting for rest and she feels her muscles contract painfully each time she moves, but ‘Tenfold’ is all she thinks in her head as she wills herself through the struggle, running on nothing but it.

They reach the indoors garden with a ceiling high and oval, a place with windows and living creatures that brought solace to her nerves. When petals of flowers begin to shine, Adel stops and he grows impatient.

“It’ll be dawn soon.” He says, out of breath. “We no longer have much time.” Byleth doesn’t question it, doesn’t have the luxury to ask questions when the prince darts forward with a speed that she is unable to match.

They reach the end of the gardens, heading towards large double doors when Byleth reaches forward and pulls Adel back again, a second before a beast darted in the place he was. It is small, far smaller than the one she’s seen before, covered in large and crusty mane of brown, eyes glowing red and mouth pulled into an angry snarl. It’s bigger than any wolf in the wild, more vicious than any other animal, but she takes on her sword, putting herself in front of Adel.

It lurches forward, the strength of its body cracking the tiles of marbled floor. Byleth launches a dagger into its eye, hitting its nose as it reacts to her move, though it loses its balance and steps to its left. She runs forward, Levin Sword pulsing painfully in her hands as she slashes, cleanly cutting off one of its limbs as it whimpers and staggers backwards. Byleth jumps onto its back, fisting at its fur and holding her hold as it thrashes in anger, timing the point of her sword well with its movements to stab it deep through its back.

It spasms, then it falls, purple blood pooling beneath and when she takes out the hilt of her sword, where its blood touches rusts the blade and crumbles into an unusable weapon.

“Byleth, behind!”

She rolls to her side, dodging another similar beast that jumps out from its hiding, eyes snapping forwards and seeing it ignore Adel as it turns around to face her anew.

Fortunate or unfortunate, she did not which to choose.

She huffs when other smaller ones crowd around, teeth baring at her and glowing red eyes scrutinizing her movements.

Silver glints, two smaller beast felled on a single swoop as her father comes in riding on his horse, looking worn, but in a far better sight than she could be.

They lock gazes, and she dares to think that relief relaxes his shoulders before his face hardens at his lance rusting from touching the beasts’ blood.

He sighs, and something inside her flutters at the familiar side.

“You’re always getting into trouble, aren’t you?”

His voice, days and weeks unheard of, lights up a sudden strength in her as she jumps on her feet, gripping at the half-decayed fabled sword with regained composure.

He laughs, full and big, and she imagines him tousling her hair in fondness if he were close enough.

“An Eisner born and bred.” She blinks when Jeralt is in front of her, grabbing her by the back of her collar, smirking and throws her away, to the far side of the room and a bruise forming but a door right in front of her. “But, you’re a bit green to be facing this without a weapon now. Take your little friend, and get out of here, brat.”

Her mouth quivers, a weight settling on her as she steps back.

Jeralt stands through another beast’s flesh, pulling it out along its weight as if it was not thrice his size, and when he looks back once he senses her approach, the brown eyes he wore were far from the kind, strictness she was so used to seeing.

“You are still weak, kid. Go, before you get anyone else killed.” She winces, fisting her shirt as she thinks about the assassin, reluctantly turning away as Adel joins her side.

“Byleth!” A broad back faces her, orange tunic ghastly and yellow at the end of the night. His hair is unruly tied into its usual braid, and Byleth sees blood of enemies that mar his armor, but nothing past the height of his waist. It was as if she had never had any reason to doubt.

He points a finger upwards, and her eyes widen in mirth, understanding immediately as she lurches the doors open, the light of the day hitting her skin.

.

The diseased bird made of magic, it flutters wide and into the sun before it fizzles out into grey ashes.

Outside is fresh, it’s cool and cold and surrounded by green foliage and vibrant.

The ground is far, for whatever reason the gardens lead to an open balcony that oversees the landscape. It’s certainly appealing, but hardly useful for their predicament.

“Where is she?” Adel mutters in loss. She points upwards, where a separate section of the palace laid and unreachable by stairs, mouth pulling slightly sideways as she sees the anxious recognition dawning on Adel’s sun-kissed face.

“We’re climbing this?”

Byleth jumps onto the railings, expertly maneuvering herself onto the blue tiles of the roof as she stretches a hand. “See this as a continuation of the chase.” Adel snorts, not very regal-like though hedoes eventually join her.

“I’m more used to running on houses’ roofs. This, this is madness.”

“Your fault for building such a huge castle.”

“My ancestors did it.”

“Your family’s fault, then.” The more she climbs, more the air grows stronger. It’s cool relief against the stuffy sweat and dried blood sticking to her clothes, and it’s certainly more welcome than the restrictive walls of the palace.

Eventually, some whining and more climbing after, they reach the windows of the small rook curiously desolate from the rest.

She looks at Adel for answers, who was already fumbling around his mind for some sort of recollection, though it seemed that it didn’t end in much fruition.

She bashes the windows open, exhausted of her patience and energy as Adel exclaims in indignation behind.

The room is messy, filled with stacks of unorganized papers and books, a desk almost unrecognizable if not for the fallen chair that laid besides and the flickering candle that revealed a small section of the table used for writing, a fountain pen abandoned on a paper.

There’s a untidy bed not made, several painting tools scattered on top of it and a canvas half-sketched of an evening street filled with people, glowing orange lights that spanned the entire picture. A village woman held a basket made of straw filled with bread, brown eyes looking at her own reflection through a shop’s window, content and at peace.

“This is surely not... my sister’s room?” Adel comments, looking abashed at the untidy state of the place, somewhat flabbergasted from the image he had in mind.

Byleth jumps to the desk, extinguishing the remnants of the candle as it dropped onto the paper, reading through its neat writing with an interest growing. A half of a page filled with wistful wishes, impressive vocabulary and words she couldn’t find the meaning to if not for context. It speaks of a demoiselle’s wishes for having a fated encounter during the festival, enjoy a dance by the bonfire, hands held intimately together as they twirled around, eyes only for each other until they lean in and- the rest is scribbled out, the tip of the ink trailing down the paper in a haste as the rest of the tale is left open.

Byleth follows the trail of mayhem, looking for the footfalls of boots on discarded papers that lead to a wardrobe tucked into a corner of the room.

When she opens it, she side-steps as an axe falls down from it.

She raises a brow at Adel, who had squeaked and was covering his face with a creeping crimson flush at his own reaction.

Byleth looks inside, clothes hung and frills, training uniforms, a lot of colored threads used as ribbons tucked between the shelves.

Though the closet is full, a corner of it is empty, where other coats and longer dresses were hung, all squished to a side except for that small section, where something like a robe previously was... or a cloak.

She huffs, closing the armoire as she touches the corner of her mouth, a muscle stirring it. “Your sister will not be back for a while.” She bonks at Adel’s head when the latter’s face creases in alarming concern. “She is very much like you, is what I can say.”

“What- _oh_ ” He exclaims as Byleth holds a leaflet of the festival at his face, mouth set into a thin line, quirking up and bursting into laughter.

She waits for a while, relishing at the fresh sound and leaving the madness of the palace behind for the moment, looking over the collection of novels not unlike her father’s own interests that she had.

She also sees the carefully laid plans of escape, of detailed descriptions of everything that the young royal observed from the dark-cladded figures in the palace, tucked in between pages of blossoming romance between two knights or a tale of forbidden love between two women who were also siblings, she snorts, closest to a snicker than she’s ever been.

“You want to go find her?” She asks after a while, more out of courtesy than anything else.

Adel thinks about it, then he shakes his head, clear eyes proud when he looks at her, a renewed sense of hope. “Not now, she doesn’t need a meddling brother like me, not when I’m like this.” He points at his own head, and his gaze falls to his prosthetic limb, and then to his leg.

She nods, closing the intriguing tale of whirling romance between a married baron and a commoner, heading towards the window.

“Time to move on.”

“To where?”

Byleth hums, tugging at Adel’s sleeves as she pushes him out, not forgetting the ‘prank’ him and his siblings pulled on her previously.

“Hey!-“

“Finish your brother’s request.”

“My brother, but he-“ _Tried to kill you._ Is left unsaid, but it’s felt between them as Adel’s face turns away. Byleth pulls at his chin, willing his focus on her as a small smirk pulls on her lips. _Pretty,_ she thinks, the unpolished steel, sooty and untouched, waiting to be tampered into a weapon to be used.

“Your brother will pay it back tenfold. But Halcius, he served your brother, and I’m completing his request when he could not.”

“The old instructor?”

She nods warily, pulling them away from the roof as she sights mages gathering underneath on a veranda, black cloaks starkly out of place at the vibrant colors of the morning.

“Let’s go” Fireballs at the ready, thunder whistling in the air and death on their trail.

They’re a pair of worn children, a prince abandoning his place of birth and a mercenary with a comrade less, but the footsteps on the roof tillings are light and when they reach the end of the road, nowhere to escape but the unavoidable fall underneath, Byleth takes a leap of faith, and Adel follows right behind.

His nervous shouts reverberate in her chest, and the laugh that she hears, perhaps it came from a place closer than she thought.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crying, i rlly loved writing the end of this. I wanted to write about Byleth's leap into the next chapter of her life (without Bau or her father or mercenaries coddling her) where she would basically be the anchor for the two children accompanying her. I don't know if that came across here but hopefully it will be noticeable throughout the next arc!!
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
